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NO. 2 




TOMAH JO. 



SILVER DOCTOR 



FLY-FISHING 



IN MAINE LAKES; 



Camp-Life in the Wilderness. 



BY 



/ 



v 



CHARLES W. STEVENS. 



God made the country, and man made t 




BOSTON : 

PUBLISHED BY A. WILLIAMS & CO 

1881. 



To the best of listeners, the kindest of critics, 
who for many years has shared with me the cares 
and comforts of a happy home, and who has been 
my fond companion in my journeyings to lake and 
stream ; in memory of many pleasant hours passed 
in canoe and camp, this book is affectionately ded- 
icated. c> w> g> 



G>W 



WHY. 




F the making of books," said a sacred writer, 
there is no end." Possibly the desire to 
make one myself arose from the fact that I 
have taken so much mental recreation in 
writing these sketches, thus renewing past enjoy- 
ments, and indulging anticipations of their repetition 
in the future. 

A part of the contents, through heavy bribes and 
friendly editors, have found their way into the col- 
umns of the press, though I have never learned that 
the sale of the respective papers has thereby been 
visibly increased. 

As this book has been written by one daily en- 
gaged in the cares and perplexities of a mercantile 
life, I hope that it may escape, if noticed at all, harsh 



6 117/ V. 

criticism. To claim for it any tiling more than a 
description of a sportsman's pleasures, by a keen 
lover of nature, would be magnificently absurd. 

To the many friends who have encouraged this 
publication, I know that its pages will sometimes be 
welcome. 

To those who have visited and enjoyed the locali- 
ties it describes, I hope it may be. If it should call 
up to all who may read it some happy remembrances 
of the past, the why and the wherefore will have been 
accomplished. 

THE AUTHOR. 

Boston, August, 1SS0. 







feSiis ^ 3w»~I* ^ > ''*^Bi 



CONTENTS. 



Chapter 

I. Starting, 

II. 

III. 

IV. 

V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 

XL 

XII. 

XIII. 

XIV. 

XV. 

XVI. 



On the Lake 

In Camp ...» 

An Unfortunate Day 

Good-by, Joe . 

Departure ... 

On the Road 

The White Hills 

Crystal and Glen Ellis 

Grand Lake 

How NOT to go . 

Tomah Joseph . 

Running the Rapids . 

A Stiff Breeze . 

Parmachenee Lake 

Pickerel-Fishing in Winter . 



Falls 



Page 
9 

23 

33 

46 
56 
70 

79 
9i 

104 

122 

136 
147 
166 

174 
183 



A RETROSPECT 194 

SUPPLEMENTARY 197 




Fly-Fishing in Maine Lakes. 



CHAPTER I. 




STARTING. 

I E was a very good sort of a man, 
but he had a weakness for going 
a-fishing." 

If he who made this remark, in 
speaking of one who had departed 
this life, had profited by the les- 
sons of the New Testament, he might have sur- 
mised that perhaps the Master gave evidence of 
superior wisdom in selecting his disciples, not from 
those who bought and sold, and would fain have 
pursued their mercenary traffic within the sacred 
walls of the temple, but from those of an humble 
calling, that hardy race of men who " go down to 

9 



io FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

the sea in ships," and who were wont to cast their 
nets in the blue waters of the Galilee. 

" But, my dear sir," say you, " that was their 
business, and not a pastime." 

" True enough ; but do you not believe that there 
was something in the very nature of their calling 
that especially fitted them for the great work they 
were to perform? " 

"Well, admit it, for the sake of the argument: 
what then? 

" Simply this : if the life of a fisherman has that 
about it that provokes a healthy body and a noble 
soul, is it a weakness for us to choose for a recrea- 
tion, and love it too, that which brings us into a 
more intimate communion with nature, and teaches 
us to look up with feelings of reverence and love, 
from the most beautiful of created things, to Him 
that has created them? " 

Oh, yes, my friend ! if I could only make you 
appreciate the true delights of the angler's pastime 
as I feel it, there would be less of the fashionable 
watering-place sojournings, I warrant you. " Come.*' 
said I to one who could not find an opportunity 
to leave his business for more than two or three 
days at a time, " come with me: leave these piles 
of brick and mortar for a couple of weeks at Least, 
and inhale the pure air oi the mountains; wander 



STARTING. II 

beside sparkling rivulets ; learn a little of the fish- 
er's art, and enjoy his homely fare, his hours of ease 
and nights of rest ; and go back to business with 
renewed vitality, delightful recollections, and a 
longer lease of life." And so at last, after much 
converse, I prevailed upon my friend, and aroused 
some faint enthusiasm for the excursion. And oh ! 
how I have heard the young man "enthuse " since 
that time over the remembrance of that vacation 
and several others of like nature which we have 
passed together ! 

I had chosen a new locality. Having fished 
Moosehead and other smaller Maine lakes with 
success, I had decided to try the Umbagog waters, 
and for seven successive seasons, a part with the 
friend above referred to, have I cast my flies upon 
the bosom of those charming lakes ; and, with all 
respect to brother Murray, a most delightful region 
have I found it. Naturally the outfit of our party 
fell upon myself, and after-experiences have taught 
me much in that respect ; and, were I writing for 
novices, I might give some valuable hints in that 
direction, — a few perhaps, as it is, may not come 
amiss. And, first of all, wherever you may go for 
trout, in June or July, take with you a goodly quan- 
tity of black-fly poison. I have used several kinds ; 
but decidedly the best I have found is prepared by 



12 FLY-FISinXG IX MAINE LAKES. 

Dr. Almy, corner of Tremont and School Streets, 
Boston A dollar box will suffice for one person for 
a three-weeks' trip : it is perfectly harmless, and to 
me rather agreeable than otherwise. Now take a 
pair of long stockings, cut off the end of the foot, 
make a hole for the thumb, and slip them on the 
hand as you would a mitt, securing them at the 
elbows with an elastic, and you are prepared to 
resist those accompaniments to good fishing, black 
flies and mosquitoes, which abound where there are 
trout to be taken. A piece of mosquito-netting 
usually comes in play for night service. These 
three articles I consider indispensable, and should 
as soon think of going on a cruise without an extra 
rod as to leave one of these behind. For the 
rest of your outfit, should some novice peruse this 
sketch, I would refer him to " The Fishing Tour- 
ist," by Charles Hallock, one of the most sensible 
books on fishing that I have ever read. 

My journal says it was " Monday evening on the 
6th of June, iS — ,'' that a hack might have been 
seen being driven down to Central Wharf. Boston, 
on its way to the Portland boat ; on the back seal 
my better half (she goes a-fishing) and myself; on 
the front seat our new acquisition to the disciples 
of Walton, not yet fully convinced, and wondering 
if he could get a lemon on board in case of sea- 



STARTING. 13 

sickness ; while inside and out were numerous pack- 
ages and portmanteaus which go to make up a 
fisherman's outfit. 

The voyage to Portland by steamboat, on a star- 
light night, with a soft westerly wind and a smooth 
sea, is not an extra hazardous one, nor does it 
admit of any glowing imagery of description. Char- 
lie didn't need his lemons, so that first conun- 
drum of his was never solved. We chatted on 
the after-deck, of our happy exodus, and specu- 
lated on coming enjoyments, till one by one our 
fellow-passengers had retired and we held full pos- 
session ; then Charlie insisted that I should sing 
"The morning light is breaking," which I kindly 
did, although I could hardly see the appropriate- 
ness of the selection, saving its being the only sec- 
ular piece I do sing : however, it served to stir up 
things a little, for, before I commenced on the sec- 
ond line, my wife and Charles bade me good-night, 
and left me to finish my hymn to the mermaids. 

It always did take my wife a long time to let 
down her back hair : so I lit a fresh cigar, and gazed 
off upon the " moonlit waves " (copied by permis- 
sion) . I had finished my cigar, and still sat gazing 
far away to where •Thacher lights were gleaming in 
the distance, when a different kind of smoke from 
that in which I had been indulging invaded my 



14 FLY-FISIIIXG IX MA LYE LAKES. 

nostrils, — a sort of cross between a burning bed- 
blanket and a piece of burned leather. Now. a 
smoke usually proceeds from a fire ; and a fire on 
a steamboat outside of its own legitimate domains, 
unless it be at the end of a cigar or in .the bowl of 
a pipe, is not a thing to be especially desired, and 
the more I snuffed the stronger grew the smell : so 
up I got, and proceeded on a tour of investigation, 
through the saloon, down between decks, forward 
and aft. For five crowded minutes, accompanied 
by one of the officers of the boat, to whom I com- 
municated my suspicions, and who divided with me 
the honors of the smell, did I search for that fire*; 
when suddenly I felt something hot drop upon a 
bald spot I wear on the top of my head. Now 
surely there was cause for alarm : taking off my hat, 
a felt one, the origin of the fire was found ; a spark 
from the smoke-stack had lodged upon the crown 
of my hat, and committed an act of incendiarism. 
Rather ludicrous it seemed to strike my friends, but 
I was never able to see the joke in the same light 
which they did. Why should I ? I told my \\ r 
I climbed into the upper berth, that it was a serious 
subject : the boat might have been on lire ; and, 
giving a final twist to her locks, that woman who had 
sworn to "love, honor, and obey," "and all that 
surt of tiling," actually laughed. I always get the 



STARTING. 15 

better of that back hair in the morning, and usually 
enjoy about forty winks while it is being tortured 
into shape ; but this morning the boat's crew seemed 
to take especial delight in banging away below us, 
while above our heads the water-bucket and the 
broom were doing active service. Sleep after four 
o'clock was under these circumstances something 
which the inventor of, probably not having been 
similarly situated, had neglected to provide for ; and 
therefore we did the next best thing, — lay awake till 
a reasonable hour for getting up arrived, and the 
colored cabin-boy had notified us by numerous 
knocks upon our stateroom-door that our absence 
would not be seriously missed. We then held a 
council of war, and decided to dress — one at a 
time, as the limited capacity of our room did not 
admit of much sociability in that proceeding. Our 
toilets completed, we were met in the saloon by 
Charlie, who confessed to a good night's rest and a 
prodigious desire for breakfast. Proceeding to the 
wharf, we were met by a most gentlemanly person, 
who kindly proposed to take us in his carriage to 
the Falmouth Hotel or to any other place in the 
"natural seaport" which we might wish to visit. 
In fact, I think we must have been looked upon as 
rather important personages, as several gentlemen 
joined him in offering the use of their carriages : 



1 6 FLY-FISHING IX MAINE LAKES. 

we, however, accepted the first invitation, and were 
soon enjoying a splendid breakfast with mine host 
Wheeler at the Falmouth. 

The train on the Grand Trunk on which we 
were to leave for Bryant's Pond Station not leaving 
until two o'clock, we had abundant opportunity to 
enjoy a drive about the beautiful city of Portland ; 
the Promenade (so called) around Munjoy Hill 
giving us a fine view of Casco Bay with its numer- 
ous islands, and that around Bramhall's Hill, at the 
western extremity of the city, a view of the sur- 
rounding country with the tall peaks of the White 
Hills in the far distance for a background. 

Two o'clock, and away we go. " All aboard," has 
been shouted by our veteran conductor (Gould) ; 
and a dejected old gentleman views with despair 
his trunk — which he has neglected to check — on 
the platform, as we pass out of the depot. Just 
a glimpse of the mammoth pier which was built 
for the "Great Eastern," when she should make 
the "natural seaport" her first port of entry, but 
which time never came ; a glance at the new 
marine hospital at \Ve-tl>rook, with White Head 
towering up in the distance, — and we are rattling off 
into a charming country, dotted here and there 
with such (arm-hou<es as only one can see in New 
England, from the window of a railroad-car. 



STARTING. 1 7 

"Goin' a-fishin?" accompanied with a poke on 
my left shoulder, drew my attention from a pretty 
farm-picture on which I was gazing, to a rural 
specimen of the genus homo on the seat behind 
me. " What der yer 'spect ter ketch? " 

" Any thing, sir, that will rise to a fly ; wouldn't 
object to a salmon, but will be content with a 
trout." 

" Rise to a fly ! guess if they rise to flies you'll 
see lots of fish." 

" Oh ! then trout are plenty this season, are 
they?" 

" Don't know nothing about trout, but flies air. 
Where yer from?" 

"Boston." 

" Where yer going ? " 

"Upper Dam, Richardson Lake." 

" Sho ! she going too ? " 

"Yes." 

"Fishing?" 

" Certainly." 

" Gosh ! cummin' all the way from Boston to go 
a fishin'. Not in them clo'es, is she? " 

We explained that our fishing-outfit was quite 
different from our present dress, and that we were 
accustomed to roughing it. The idea of our 
"cummin' all the the way from Boston to go 



iS FLY-FISHING IX MAINE LAKES. 

a-fishin', and she goin' too," so impressed the 
old gentleman that he lapsed into profound medi- 
tation, and we heard nothing more from him till 
we stepped from the car at Bryant's Pond, when I 
overheard him say to an old lady opposite, — 

"Jess think of it! he said they'd come all the 
way from Boston to go a-fishin'." 

The stage-coach — that old-fashioned, charming 
vehicle of locomotion which we had been advised 
would be in waiting to take us to Andover — 
greeted our vision as we alighted from the train ; 
and, scrambling for outside seats, we little heeded 
the remark of our driver, that " she wouldn't bal- 
ance unless some of us got inside." 

Get inside? not much. We had anticipated 
this glorious ride too much for that : so we stowed 
our luggage on the lower deck, with one or two 
way-passengers, and kept our lofty seats, hug 
to them, and to each other, as we sped away right 
merrily down hill and up hill, stopping now and 
then to deliver a lean mail-bag to some female 
government attadne, who would cast shy glances 
at the members of the party on the outside, who 
"cum all the way," &c, and then trip gayly back to 
the post-office, to sort the mail, and guess at the 
contents of the letters. 

We soon found our driver to be a lively and 



STARTING. 19 

communicative chap, as they usually are ; and 
before we had proceeded many miles he had 
sifted us down pretty well, and given us a very 
good history of himself, family, and horses. 

One of us observed that the leaders didn't ap- 
pear to be quite well matched. 

" Well matched ! Gentlemen, there never was 
a pair of better-matched horses than them air 
leaders. You see, the off one wants to do all 
the work, and the nigh one is perfectly willing 
he should." 

That wasn't bad, and we gave it the laugh it 
deserved. The next year I got the witticism with- 
out any suggestion on my part, and didn't laugh 
quite so loud. I have heard it seven times, and 
the worthy deacon seems to enjoy his little joke 
more and more. I can see him now, gathering 
himself up, and giving the "nigh one" a little 
tingler on the left ear, as introductory. 

Well, here we are at Rumford, ten miles from 
Bryant's Pond, and as many more to Andover, 
where we are to spend the night and make our 
preparations for departure to the lakes. The driver 
informs us that we sup here. The landlord looks 
inviting, and the table more so. We do full justice 
to the meal ; but "six boiled eggs," Master Charles, 
I will never confess to. We have disputed that 



20 FLY-FISH I XG IX MAIXE LAKES. 

point many times : I acknowledge four, but "six " 
— excuse me. 

" Beg your pardon, madam," said a lady to Mrs. 
S., as she was leaving the parlor for her outside 
seat. "Do you not remain with us?" My wife 
remarked that our journey lay farther on, behind 
the hills. 

" Oh, I am so sorry ! this is such a lovely spot, 
so romantic ! such a superabundance of beauty, it 
would seem as if nature had thrown every thing 
into wild confusion." Fortunately, before we had 
quite digested this burst of eloquence, the cry of 
" Stage ready " prevented our being obliged to ex- 
tend the conversation ; but as we whirled away from 
the door I launched at her from my lofty pinnacle 
a few harmless, disconnected adjectives, just to 
show her we knew how it was done. 

A short ride brings us to the banks of the 
Androscoggin, dividing the village of Rumford, 
and which we cross on what is known as a rope- 
ferry, — a rope stretched across the river, on which 
runs a pulley attached to another rope made fast to 
the boat : the force of the current, with a little guid- 
ance from the "bold ferry-man," is all that is re- 
quired to land us on the opposite shore, up which 
our horses canter, and we are bowling along at a 
lively pace toward Andover. 



STARTING. 21 

Our mail-bags grow leaner as we pass them out 
from under the boot ; the deacon has talked him- 
self out, and with an occasional, "Rup there," 
"Whoa, Sail," we hear but little from him. The 
madam leans rather heavily upon my right shoul- 
der, as if her journey, Rumford eloquence, or ca- 
tering, had been too much for her. Charlie thinks 
his creature comfort demands his winter overcoat. 
The patriarch of the flock lights his pipe, and, fail- 
ing to arouse any enthusiasm over what a charming 
sunset there might have been under certain con- 
tingencies, sinks into a brown study, cogitating what 
flies he will use for his first cast. Darkness settles 
down upon us, and the sparkle of thousands of 
fireflies seem but the reflection of the twinkling 
stars. 

"Only one mile more," from the deacon, rouses 
us from our meditations ; and, as the village bell 
rings out the hour of nine, we whirl up to the door 
of the Andover House. 

I don't suppose that Uncle John Merrill, our 
landlord, will ever forget, or cease to remind me, 
how resignedly my wife fell into his arms that night 
as she descended from her lofty perch. Charlie 
and myself had no such kindly reception, but were 
made very welcome, and were soon on nearly as 
intimate terms with our good-natured host, who 



22 



FLY-F/SH/XG IX MAIXE LAKES. 



had been apprised of our coming, and whose best 
chambers had been swept and garnished for our 
arrival. A short talk over our prospects at the 
lake, and we were ready to test John's mattresses. 




CHAPTER II. 



ON THE LAKE. 




HEN you have reached a quiet 
country village, late at night, after 
a long day's journey, refreshingly 
tired, have you not thought how 
you would sleep long into the morn- 
ing ? And when the early morning 
came, did you not find yourself sadly disappointed ? 
Talk about the country stillness ! generally speak- 
ing, that's all moonshine : you hear plenty of noises. 
The " early village cock " is the first to give token 
of the morn • then some noble Newfoundland, or 
cur of low degree, launches his bark on the sea 
of time's new day ; and you wish, just for that brief 
interval between trying to get a morning nap and 
finally giving it up, that you were back again to your 
own bed and listening to the accustomed sounds 
which you do not hear. However, when you do 

2 3 



•24 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

become fully aroused, shake off the bedclothes, and 
put your head out of the window, and get a sight 
of the far-off hills, and one good wholesome coun- 
try smell, all animosity is fled : you forgive both 
fowl and beast for early rising ; and you sit there 
in the cool of the morning, or I often have, drink- 
ing in the glories of the budding morn. Oh ! isn't 
it delicious ? One doesn't need to pour exhilara- 
tion down his throat to give him an appetite for 
breakfast : it is drank in through the other senses, 
and sends a thrill of pleasure over the whole body. 
And when we all sit around John's neatly-spread 
table, and taste the fresh eggs and the dainty 
trout, we begin to feel already a newer life and a 
most voracious appetite. 

"It does me good to see you take hold," said 
John, as he bustled about the table, his gray hair 
and long beard glistening in the morning sun. 
" But, bless your souls ! this is nothing to what you 
will be able to do when you get back. And now 
hurry up, and get ready for a start : the backboard 
will be at the door in half an hour." 

If our friend, who interviewed us on the cars, 
could have seen us as we were ready for departure. 
he would scarcely have recognized us ; " them 
clothes" having been laid aside lor the fisherman's 
garb. My wife never looked better in my eyes 



ON THE LAKE. 2$ 

than she did when about to mount the buckboard : 
a bloomer suit, made of dark waterproof, good 
stout boots, buck gloves with armlets reaching to 
and well secured at the elbow, a gentleman's felt 
hat, and white tarltan veil fastened to the band, 
completely encircling the head, and secured by an 
elastic to the collar of the dress, thus affording an 
effectual barrier to the flies and mosquitoes that 
awaited our coming and were thirsting for city 
blood. 

After three miles of quite rapid travelling over an 
ordinary country thoroughfare, we left civilization, 
and turned into the road which leads to the arm 
of the lake, — nine miles through a dense forest 
where locomotion becomes slow, and were it not 
for its novelty might become tedious, as it takes 
three hours to accomplish the distance. But we 
are a gay and happy party, and with jokes, stories, 
and song the hours soon slip by ; and, before we 
begin to feel at all wearied with our jaunt, we come 
out upon a small clearing, and our driver says, 
" Here we are." We see a small black-looking 
camp, but no lake, so completely is it hidden by 
the dense woods. Here we prepare our lunch, and 
eat it with a hearty relish, first making a smudge on 
the cook-stove to clear the camp of " flies and 
sich." Our guides unloose our baggage from the 



26 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

buckboard, and, hoisting it upon their shoulders, 
disappear through a labyrinth of trees and under- 
brush, while we stand wondering where they are to 
find boats and water. But we have faith, and show 
it by our works, as we pick up some of the lighter 
parcels, and follow. 

" Don't stumble, Frank ! look out there ! Don't 
you see you have the package marked ' Glass, with 
care'?" 

" I know it, sir ! and I'll take good care I don't 
drop it : I allers look out sharp for them packages 
— contents good for wet soles, ain't they, sir? " 

" Yes, and dry uppers." 

" Well, sir, here's the boat, she's all right : the 
lady had better stay by that smudge till we get her 
stowed — the boat, I mean." 

We see the boat, and believe in that, also in our 
guides ; and our faith, though slightly wavering as 
we gaze down the narrow, dirty stream not ten feet 
wide, still holds out. Charlie will insist upon my 
unloading my revolver, which I had carefully laid 
in the stern sheets for the benefit of some erratic 
loon ; which done, and the madam called and com- 
fortably seated on the softest blanket, we push off 
with kind good-bys and good wishes from Uncle 
John. 

We thread for a moment or two the narrow wind- 



ON THE LAKE. 27 

ing passage in which our boat lies concealed. At 
first a hush, a solemn stillness, then a burst of sur- 
prise from each as we glide forth upon the bosom 
of the lake. A gentle breeze, and a fair one. 
Hoisting our sail we move gracefully onward. 
And now our faith is lost in sight, as the wide ex- 
panse of water, fringed on all sides with the un- 
broken green of undisturbed forests, meets our 
gaze. 

" Oh ! how beautiful, how beautiful ! " bursts 
from the lips of the gentler one as she throws up 
her veil (no fear of flies here) . " How could Mr. 
Murray write as he did about the scenery of 
Maine?" 

"Probably because he never had seen it." 

" Fortunately for us he hadn't, or we might be 
sailing up the lake to-day with a small fleet, instead 
of being solitary voyagers as we appear to be. 
But what are those tall peaks over there in the dis- 
tance?" 

" Those are the White Mountains ; those small 
buildings you see in the line of the hills down by 
the shore are Middle Dam Camp. There's the 
source of the Androscoggin : good fishing there, 
but not near as pleasant as our destination." All 
this from the intelligent guides Charles Cutting 
and Frank Merrill. 



28 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

The breeze, which had been quite fresh at start- 
ing, now died away to almost a calm, so that in 
spite of the helmsman's skill the sail flapped idly 
against the mast, and scarce a ripple stirred the 
waters beneath our stern. 

" I thought so," said Cutting as he choked off a 
prolonged whistle with which he had been en- 
deavoring to ''raise the wind." "It's got to be a 
white-ash breeze, Frank, and that means you and 
me. It never blows in the narrows, and when it 
does it's sure to be the wrong way. Put out your 
trolling-line, Mr. Stevens, and you may get a trout 
or two for supper." 

That was a pleasant suggestion, and, as I after- 
wards learned, an uncommon one for a guide to 
offer, for it adds somewhat to the weight of an 
oar when a hundred feet of line attached to a troll- 
ing-spoon is being dragged behind ; but we had an 
unusual passenger (for at that time few ladies had 
visited our camping-ground) and our boys were 
polite accordingly. I put out my line, and the 
silver spoon glistens brightly in the sun as it floats 
away upon the water. I was just shaking off the 
last few yards of line from the reel which was turn- 
ing summersaults between my feet in the bottom of 
the boat, when a quick, sharp jerk almost pulled it 
from our hands, and in less time than I can describe 



ON THE LAKE. 29 

it — instantly, almost — Charlie B.'s white hat was 
jammed down over his eyes, and faint mutterings of 
"Oh, oh, don't ! I didn't mean to; I won't!" 
were heard beneath it. I had been too quick for the 
boy, and caught him even with his fingers on the 
line. Taken in the act, his punishment was sharp, 
quick, and decisive ; and not until the youth had 
promised to cut me six pipes of tobacco did I 
withdraw the " felt." 

On we pulled, leisurely but steadily, with just 
speed enough to keep the line on the surface, for 
it does not do to hurry in this country. And now 
no fingers give that jerk, but the mouth of some 
member of the finny tribe has closed over the 
spoon. The boys back water, and hand over hand 
we pull, " Gently, not too fast, sir : that's better ; " 
and in a few moments our first trout lies before us. 
" Beautiful ! " well you may say so, for what is more 
beautiful than a well-developed pound trout ? and 
he weighed just a pound ; one scale more would 
have turned the scale. 

Six longing, loving eyes gazed tenderly upon him, 
a bright flush lit up their anxious faces, and (alas ! 
frail human nature) three hungry mortals wondered 
whether there was enough of him to go round. 
Over goes the line again, and the boys, made happy 
by our success,' hurry up a bit, and pull ten strokes 
more to the hour. 



30 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

Before we were through the narrows, two more, 
just, about the size of the first, left their watery 
abodes for that bourn from which no trout returns. 
And now, our supper secured, we reel up, and feast 
our eyes on the first trophies of our anticipated 
sport ; not taken, however, as the educated sports- 
man is wont to entice this brightest jewel in Un- 
dine's crown. No, the true sport is to come, when, 
as sunset glories tinge the waters with a golden 
hue, our dancing flies skip to the gentle music of a 
southern breeze, over the rippled surface of that 
nameless cove, tempting with their varied colors 
this queen of the lake and mountain streams. But 
we grow poetical : " Charlie, pass the tar." 

One who sits beside me as I write these lines 
suggests that I reserve a few adjectives with which 
to describe the beauty of the scene that greeted us 
as we passed out from the narrows into the upper 
lake. But it's of no use : I never could do it full 
justice. We that have been there know, yes, can 
see it all now as it burst upon our astonished vision 
that June afternoon, again as it appeared in the soft 
moonlight when one evening we viewed it from 
our boat, lazily drifting with the current, ay, and 
many times since. 

Where are those mountains, shorn of their trees 
from base to summit, of which the •" pastor" tells 



ON THE LAKE. 3 1 

us? Surely yonder sentinel towering up at the 
head of the lake is not one of them, for that the 
foot of man has never trod, nor yet those twin sis- 
ters on our left. Where is the " debris, 11 the slabs 
and sawdust that denote the lumberman's camp? 
Surely not in the clear sparkling streams that pour 
their waters into this grand reservoir of nature. 
Fie, Mr. Murray ! you didn't know what you were 
writing about ; and, faith, I hope you never will. 

We must leave preachers and preaching, for 
here we are at the landing. That building at the 
foot of the lake, which has such a civilized look 
about it, is Joe Whitney's camp ; and a fine one it 
is too, and beautifully situated, as you can see. Call 
there some time in passing : if Joseph is at home, 
you will find the latch-string on the outside, and a 
sportsman's welcome ; if not at home, brother Cole 
will do the honors, and accept from you any news- 
papers that you have brought along. 

But come, pick up some light baggage, and let 
us find our camp ; for it is getting late, and Joe may 
be cross when he sees a woman coming. Joe is 
our cook, cl French Canadian, of seventy summers 
and nearly as many winters, and who has been 
here for about twenty-five years : we will tell you 
some of his eccentricities in our next chapter. 
But no, Joe is not cross, for there is not a fisher- 
man in camp, and he is getting lonesome. 



32 FLY-FISIIIXG IX MAINE LAKES. 

" Joe, this is Mr. B and my wife." 

" How do you do, well? " 

"Plenty fish, Joe?" 

" Plenty feesh and plenty fly, my God. You 
troll, get feesh for supper? " 

" Yes, Frank will bring them up in a minute." 

"Fry him?" 

" Yes." 

"You bring butter, eggs, yes? " 

" All the good things, Joe." 

" You got camp all to yourselfs, lucky, yes." 

"Well, Joe, I reckon we will get into it, and stow 
away our traps," which we did ; and after a glori- 
ous trout supper, a social pipe and chat, retired at 
an early hour to dream of the morrow's sport. 




CHAPTER III. 



IN CAMP. 




T was four o'clock by my watch when 
I awoke in the morning. Thanks to 
Joe's comfortable bed and our mos- 
quito-canopy, we were undisturbed by 
the festive mosquito, and our sleep 
was quiet and restful. The madam 
said she had "slept like a top." I complimented 
her on her fresh appearance, congratulated her that 
she had rested so well, and then provoked her by 
asking if she could tell me how a top slept. I 
could never exactly see why this comparison, and 
I am sorry to say I got no information this time. I 
suggested that probably a top slept to hum, and we 
didn't, but that did not improve matters. 

It was four o'clock by my watch, I said, when 
we awoke : there was a little dispute about that 
also \ the party of the other part said it was three 

33 



34 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

minutes past, — a small portion of time to vex one's 
self about so early in the morning, you would say. 
If you had seen that room after we had discussed 
the matter in a calm and reasonable manner for 
about five minutes, you might think differently. I 
finally gave up, as usual, set my watch three minutes 
ahead, and commenced to repair damages. This 
little episode served to give us a good appetite for 
breakfast, to which we did full justice. 

If my readers who have journeyed with us thus 
far are disposed to tarry with us yet a little longer, 
it is very proper that they should be given some 
brief description of our abode. Upper Dam Camp 
is situated at the head of a small and rapid stream, 
called Rapid River, which separates the two lakes, 
Mooselucmaguntic and Mollychunkemunk. I like 
to write those two names, there is such a sense of 
relief when I get through. If I were a schoolboy 
I would write a composition often about the Maine 
lakes, their names would fill up so well. 

The camp, comprising two buildings, one for 
cooking and eating, the other for drinking and 
sleeping, is within a stone's-throw of the dam itself, 
a splendid structure and well calculated to improve 
one in gymnastic exercises. From the piers of 
this dam we cast our flies, and entice the wary 
trout ; and for such sport, if you will forgive the 
seeming paradox, it has no peer. 



IN CAMP. 35 

Half a mile from the camp, near the outlet of 
Mooselucmaguntic, is Trout Cove, beautifully situ- 
ated, commanding a fine view of the lake and dis- 
tant hills ; the joy of the angler's heart, for beneath 
the surface of its clear, cold waters, sport, in all 
the vigor of a healthful growth, the finest speci- 
mens of the sahno fontinalis to be found in any 
section of our country. In the spring they varj 
in size from a quarter of a pound to four pounds 
in weight, the average being about a pound, quite 
a number weighing from two to three, while one of 
four is of course rarely taken. In the fall they run 
as high as eight pounds, while they have been taken 
weighing twelve. 

Our fishing is done from flat-bottomed boats, usu- 
ally one fisherman and guide in each, and the trout 
preserved alive in cars moored to the shore of the 
cove. Our average catch, thirty per day, morning 
and evening fishing, taken altogether with the fly. 
To those accustomed to taking brook-trout, this 
may seem a small number; but the ease, excite- 
ment, and size of the game, more than out-balance 
the greater number of small fry which may be 
caught in any quantity in the streams which abound 
in this locality. The cove, the dam, and the outlet 
of the stream, comprise our fishing-grounds, all 
within easy distance of the camp and within hear- 



$6 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

ing of Joe's horn which he blows to call us to our 
meals ; and, as promptness at the table so far as 
guests are concerned is one of Joe's particular 
hobbies, this is worthy of note. Speaking of Joe 
reminds me that I promised in my last chapter to 
introduce him more particularly to your notice. 
Joseph is in all respects the major-domo of the 
camp: he cooks, washes, irons, makes the beds, 
builds the fire, makes the smudge, milks the cow, 
feeds the hens, in fact, does every thing but " clean 
feesh," make out your bill, and take your money. 
In regard to the latter, I have found that a green- 
back between your palm and his when shaking 
hands with him upon arrival does not lessen the 
cordiality with which you are received. 

Joe has some peculiarities : who of us have 
not? One of his greatest is doing what you tell 
him to do (an A i quality). If he has a dish in 
his hand, and you should say " Joe, drop that," he 
would do it, on the table or floor, just where he 
happened to be. 1 never have tried it, nor do I 
propose to, for it's a waste of property, ami there is 
a sequel to it ; but I have seen those who have. 
Joe has a way of saying " My God," which seems a 
cross between an oath and a supplication, which 
would be equally acceptable to a Bowery boy or a 
circuit-preacher. I never could believe that he 



IN CAMP. 37 

meant it wicked, and it conveys a great deal. But 
above all, and over all, more than compensating for 
his minor failings, Joe is strictly honest : he will 
take all you give him, but nothing that you do not : 
not even a State constable's bete noir, though he 
loves it, and never refuses when, asked. I would 
not give so much space to Joe, were it not that he 
is part and parcel of the lakes themselves : all the 
fishermen look upon him as their godfather ; and I 
verily believe the trout are so fond of him, that 
they cook themselves to a lovelier brown as they 
look up from the pan into his anxious furrowed 
face. I can see him now as he appeared at the 
door of the camp some two hours after our amiable 
discussion in regard to tempus fugit, and recall his 
first salutation, thoughtful and kind as a mother's 
care: "Miss Stevens sleep good, no?" — "Yes, 
Joe, first-rate, splendidly." — "No fly, merskeeter, 
no? " — " Not a sign of 'em. See here, Joe," and 
we take him into our room, and show him the can- 
opy suspended over the bed. He takes a survey 
of it, and a look of wonder gathers over his face : 
the expression we have quoted above wells up to 
his lips, but he restrains it. " Well, Joe, what do 
you think of that? " — " It is nice." — " Yes, so it 
is, my dear fellow, a camp-luxury. But how about 
breakfast? " — " You have feesh, Mr. Stevens? " — 



3S FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

« Yes."—" You have him fry?" — " Yes." — " Egg 
fry, yes?" — "Certainly, Joseph, all the fixings." 
— " Coffee, tea, no ? " — " Yes, both, and hurry it 
up, for we are getting hungry." 

While Joe is getting breakfast, we get out our 
fishing-tackle, select our flies, joint our rods, and 
make the necessary preparations for the day's sport. 
I would not be positive in regard to the cast I used 
that day, though, as my journal says the day was 
cloudy, I should judge I started out with a " fiery 
brown " and " scarlet ibis : " the former is a fly tied 
for these waters by John McBride, of Mumford, 
Munroe County, N.Y. ; and I wish to put on perpet- 
ual record, or as near to it as type, ink, and paper 
will do it, that he ties the best flies, both for beauty 
and strength, of any one in the country — perhaps 
Mr. Whitney, the famous guide of Upton, excepted. 
If I had had his flies and casting-line when I struck 
that six-pounder — Well, never mind, I am going 
to tell you all about that anon. 

Our breakfast was a hurried one. Joe had done 
himself full justice : he most always does ; but we 
were anxious for our first rise, and were soon clam- 
bering down over the piers, seeking the favorite 
spots, Mrs. S. seating herself above us to share our 
sport. The day and the stage of water were both 
in our favor, and our expectations were ranged ac- 
cordingly. 



IN CAMP. 39 

The first cast I made, I struck the top log of a 
pier with my tail-fly, and, while I was gazing at 
a broken tip, had the supreme satisfaction of seeing 
Charlie net a two-pound trout a short distance 
from me ; but, as the said Charlie had always in- 
sisted that I would break my neck, I viewed this 
slight disaster with complacency. Adjusting a new 
tip, and taking a better survey of my background, 
my next cast was more successful, and before my 
flies had hardly touched the water, a trout rose to 
each ; I struck and hooked them both : so sudden 
and unexpected was this response to my invitation, 
that nothing but the sharp click of the reel brought 
me to my senses. Round the pool in a circle they 
dashed like a pair of circus-horses ; once, twice, 
three times, did they follow each other, swift as the 
wind, in the same pathway ; then for a moment, as 
if pausing to consider the situation, they halted, 
sank to the bottom, and sulked. " Are they gone ? " 
echoed a voice from above. " Not much," was the 
reply, as I wiped a little tar and perspiration from 
my brow \ " merely giving us both a breathing- 
spell." Before the words were fairly uttered, they 
were up and at it again. For full fifteen minutes I 
played those two trout : they were beauties, mettle- 
some and gamey as one could wish ; but the little 
seven-ounce rod was too much for them, and they 



40 FLY-FISH IXG IN MAINE LANES. 

at last " threw up the sponge." My skilful guide 
succeeded in netting them both : they weighed 
very nearly a pound and a half each, and were 
splendid fish. 

As I read this to one who, " as a looker-on in 
Venice," had shared the sport: "True, to the 
life," said she. "And to the death?" I ques- 
tioned. " And to the death. I remember that pair 
distinctly, and lively ones they were." Three times 
that morning did I repeat that catch, and the six 
trout did not differ in weight more than a quarter 
of a pound. Charlie was equally successful in 
point of numbers, but drd not have quite so good 
luck on his " pairs." We cast about the dam until 
nearly eleven, when, as is the usual custom, we 
repaired to the camp to enjoy our lunch. This 
usually consists of crackers and cheese, an olive or 
two, moistened with a little dram of " suthin' " nice, 
all of which comprise a part of the stores which the 
fisherman should bring with him. 

" Well, old Stevens," said Charlie, " this is pretty 
good sport. Smashed your tip, didn't you?" 

" Should say so." 

"Bad?" 

" Not very." 

"Show me the pieces." I brought them in : and 
Charlie got out his tool-chest, and went to work 



IN CAMP. 41 

repairing it. Not being a very bad break, and the 
young man a good workman, it was soon put in 
working order again. I used to think, considering 
my size, that I was pretty careful of myself, as well 
as my rigging ; but Charlie has patched up rods so 
many times, from butt to tip, and picked me up 
from among stones and brush-wood when I had 
lain down for a rest, that I haven't quite that con- 
fidence in myself that I was wont to have. There 
isn't the slightest doubt but what, if that individual 
could be prevailed upon to free his mind on the 
subject, he would tell you he expected, the next 
time we whip the water together, he will have the 
grim satisfaction of getting that new split bamboo 
into his clutches for repairs. But I have some 
slight revenge on the youth for his hilarious scoffing 
at what he calls my "clumsiness : " he doesn't eat 
olives, turns up his fastidious nose at devilled ham, 
can't do much in the way of "schnapps;" says 
it affects him as contradiction did Mrs. Sternhold, 
it "flies to the head." So I eat and drink his 
share of these accompaniments, and he pays for 
half; but let him alone on the solids: for a little 
fellow, he does dispose of — Never mind, that's 
Joe's lookout, and, if he can keep him " cooked 
up," I don't care. 

"What do you think of Murray ?" said Charlie, 



42 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

as he put the finishing touch to the restored tip, 
and I lay on the leather lounge, smoking my pipe, 
and watching his operations. 

" In regard to his being a fisherman, — a true 
sportsman, you mean, I suppose?" 

" Exactly." 

" I think he's a humbug : he professes to know 
too much in regard to too many things, to excel in 
any one. I don't believe he could have mended 
that tip as you have ; and yet, if he had described 
the ' how to do it ' with his pen, which admitted he 
handles with vigor, you would have thought him 
a perfect adept in the art of rod-making. When a 
professed fisherman tells us to go to Read's for the 
best rods, and recommends a rod with the reel eight 
inches from, instead of at, the butt ; tells you that 
he who * directs a ball, or hooks a fish, out of mere 
sport, is deserving of fine and imprisonment,' and 
then shoots deer out of season, fires thirty or forty 
shots at a poor loon for the mere ' sport ' of the thing, 
and leaves dozens of trout on a bank to rot, — I 
don't propose to take much stock in him. For- 
tunately, however, he doesn't care for my opinion, 
and, I reckon, precious little for any one's else, 
What's your sentiments?" — "Ditto." — " Ditto," 
from the other one, who looks up from her book, 
evidently quite surprised at the forcible and decided 



IN CAMP. 43 

expression of opinion, but re-echoing the sentiment 
expressed. And if we judge him from his book, 
by which I suppose he is willing to be judged (waiv- 
ing some of his yarns which he does not expect us 
to believe), ours is a righteous judgment. 

Having disposed of this subject to our satisfac- 
tion, we spend the time between lunch and dinner 
in a lounging, lazy sort of manner, discussing the 
merits of different rod-makers, variety of flies, and 
such like fisherman's talk, occasionally practising al 
a mark with our pistols and rifles ; after dinner, a 
smoke and a snooze. 

At about four o'clock we take a trip to the cove 
for our afternoon sport, which, if exciting, we con- 
tinue until sunset. My experience has been, that 
more trout are taken between nine and eleven 
o'clock in the forenoon, and four and six in the 
afternoon, than at any other time, though they 
often rise quite lively for half an hour before sun- 
set. Early-morning fishing, with me, has not been 
a success. I have tried it more times than I pro- 
pose to again. Charlie was always opposed to it 
on principle. " Let 'em rise," he would say : " I 
won't ; " and he don't, till breakfast is ready. 

If the sport at the cove is tame, we return at 
the call of Joe's horn, and take a six-o'clock sup- 
per, and cast awhile at the dam till darkness begins 



44 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

to fall ; then we gather about the smudge at the 
door of our camp, and watch the blue cloud of 
smoke as it floats gracefully upwards. Now is the 
time for reflection ; and as we think of ourselves 
some twenty miles or more away from any human 
habitation, excepting a few like our own, in the 
depths of a vast wilderness with the never-ceasing 
sound of rushing water falling upon our ears, we 
can hardly realize the bustle and commotion, with 
all its attendant incidents of joy and sorrow, that is 
hourly transpiring in that busy centre which we 
have left. Aside from the excitement of our fish- 
ing we have little to disturb that perfectly contented 
frame of mind and body which we enjoy. A new 
arrival or a stray guide with a bundle of correspond- 
ence from Andover makes a slight ripple upon the 
tranquillity of our daily life. We spend no anxious 
thought in regard to change of apparel, no precious 
moments are wasted in unnecessary ablutions : we 
have no time to devote to scandal with our nearest 
neighbors, no bickering with servants. 

We are all kings and queens together. The 
guides eat at the same table, drink from the same 
goblet or tin cup, as circumstances demand ; and. if 
on a tramp, the same blanket at night covers their 
weary limbs and ours. 

I have met fishermen here from my own city, 



IN CAMP. 45 

and in a week's stay felt as if they had been 
acquaintances of a lifetime, parted from them to 
meet only again, perhaps one or maybe two years 
afterwards, in the far-off wilderness. Yes, we re- 
turn again to active life, we mingle with the crowd, 
are jostled from the sidewalk, or from the world 
for that matter, and the gap is filled : it's only 
" somebody's darling that's dead and gone." 
There's this difference between the city and the 
country : the latter remembers you longer. It may 
be for good, and it may be for ill. 

But we are getting sentimental. " Frank, smudge 
out the camp." 





CHAPTER IV. 

AX UNFORTUNATE DAY. 

UT still a happy one, as they all 
were, and as such days ever will be 
to those who enjoy the sportsman's 
life : would there were more that do ! 
And there will be ; for I believe, as 
a people we are growing more and 
more to appreciate this recreation, its benefit to the 
health, its widening of our sphere of vision. Grad- 
ually will our business-men be attracted more to 
the haunts of nature, and away from the dissipations 
of the conventional watering-places. Also the field 
of the angler and the hunter will be enlarged, the 
protection and propagation of fish and game in 
streams and forests will do much to encourage 
these manly sports, fishing will be found nearer 
home, and, the taste once cultivated, more distant 
waters and less frequented localities will be sought 
4 6 



AN UNFORTUNATE DAY. 47 

after. Fish not before known in the sportsman's 
vocabulary as game-fish are being brought into 
notice. The shad which throng our northern 
rivers, it has been found, will take the fly. A speci- 
men of the English grayling, one of the gamiest of 
the finny tribe, has been recently discovered in the 
Michigan waters, and will form a great acquisition 
to the angler's store ; and thus the supply will con- 
stantly increase with the increasing love for the 
sport. 

To return, however, to our little family in the 
woods. For the first few days our sport had been 
excellent, and we had quite a goodly family of 
trout in our several cars to feast the eyes and the 
palates of our friends at home. But the past day 
or two had been hot and cloudless, and no allure- 
ments, in the way of diversified casts, would tempt 
the sportive beauties from their cool retreats ; so 
we idled away the time, enjoying nature and each 
other's company. As I was leaning over the rail 
of the bridge that crosses the dam, enjoying the 
play of the waters as they dashed and foamed at 
my feet, I saw a black object drop from where I 
was standing into the rushing stream below. It 
did not take me but a moment to recognize my fly- 
book, which, opening as it fell, scattered a well- 
selected assortment of McBride's best flies upon 



48 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

the rushing tide. I have discarded the old meth- 
od of carrying flies in a book in which you are 
obliged to wind the snell and place it in a space 
in the leaf prepared for the purpose. I always 
keep the snell perfectly straight, for obvious rea- 
sons ; and my flies were thus lying loosely in my 
new style of book, which resembles an old-fash- 
ioned long leather wallet. I am particular in this 
description, proposing to draw slightly upon your 
imagination in what follows. I knew very well 
what Charlie would say when I told him of my 
misfortune : " It's a great wonder that you did not 
tumble over with them," or some such encouraging 
remark, so that I was in no particular hurry to make 
known my loss, but stood gazing at the white- 
crested waves over which they were being borne 
to the somewhat more quiet waters farther on. As 
I lingered I imagined a dozen or two fine, hand- 
some trout lying in the unfished stream, tempted 
by the unwonted attraction, rising for their prey 
and hooking themselves ; and how they would look 
to each other as they went around, comparing notes 
with six inches of snell hanging from their mouths : 
they might tickle each other's noses perhaps. I 
had really begun to pity the poor fellows, when the 
thought of it brought an anecdote to my mind 
which I had come across somewhere, and I laughed 



AN UNFORTUNATE DAY. 49 

outright. Let me tell it, and, if my readers fail to 
see the connecting-link, study Darwin, for my little 
incident relates to a "tale." A superintendent of 
a certain Sunday school, in the vicinity of the 
" Hub," was speaking to the scholars, at the close 
of the exercises, of the lesson for the day, which 
was the story of the Israelites' making brick with 
straw. As he came to the oppression of Pharaoh, 
in demanding the same tale of bricks when no 
straw was supplied as before, he asked the question 
of the scholars, "What is meant by the tale of 
bricks? " At once a bright little fellow held up his 
hand, and answered, "A piece of straw sticking 
out of the end of a brick." 

Returning to camp, I told the story of my loss ; 
as was expected, only smiles and ridicule for my 
carelessness from those to whom I naturally should 
have looked for sympathy. Our guides only, 
showed sorrow for my misfortune, and would have 
swam the stream in undress-uniform had there 
been a forlorn hope of a recovery. Later, however, 
Charlie came round, and * compromised the matter 
by offering me the use of his fly-book. Not hav- 
ing had any luck himself during the day, he de- 
clined going to Trout Cove in the afternoon ; but 
as towards sundown a little breeze sprang up, I de- 
termined to try it again, as the time for our leaving 
camp was fast approaching. 



50 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

"What do you think of the prospect?" I asked 
my guide, as we trudged along over the familiar 
path. 

" It's my notion that they'll rise to-night : the 
wind's got round to the south'ard, and there'll be 

just a good ripple. I'm thinking Mr. B will 

wish't he'd come along." 

" Don't you think you had better whistle to keep 
my courage up ? Still the trout are there, and they 
must be getting hungry." 

u Well, it won't take us long to find out, Mr. 
Stevens : " this last remark was made as he pushed 
the boat off from her moorings, and sprang into 
her. 

Our fishing-grounds were but a few minutes' pull 
from ihe shore, and we were soon at anchor and 
ready to receive visitors. 

I had changed my casts several times during the 
day, and now had a casting-line with a couple of 
nondescript flies, which I had found in my old 
book as it was left from the year before. 

"There's a swirl," said Cutting, as he points over 
my left shoulder : " and there's another, and no 
fool of a fish." 

" Hadn't we better get to work ? " 

Things looked a little encouraging, to say the 
least. "Ah, there's another!" — " Yes, and we'll 



AN UNFORTUNATE DAY. 51 

send him an invitation." I cast quite near to 
where he rose, and he responded immediately : I 
struck and hooked him, and in a few minutes he 
was safely netted. The next cast, and two rose, 
one of which was lost, the other weighed quite two 
pounds. 

We had not been on the grounds more than ten 
minutes before the cove all around us was literally 
alive with trout, and in twenty minutes I had half 
as many trout, alive, in the well-room of the boat. 

" Well, this keeps us pretty busy : what a pity Mr. 
B didn't come along ! " • 

" That's so, but we haven't got time to go for 
him : the sun's not more than half an hour high." 
This slight conversation occurred while I was put- 
ting on a couple of fresh flies, for by this time the 
old ones had got to looking a little frayed. Not 
more than twenty-five feet of line had I got out 
before a parting of the waters, a rush, and a most 
noble fish broke the water, taking my tail-fly as he 
went down. He hooked himself firmly, down 
went the butt, and down went Sir Trout to the bot- 
tom, taking but a few yards of line from my reel. 

"What do you think of that?" said I, turning to 
my guide, who sat complacently smoking his pipe. 

" I think you have got all you want to attend to 
for the next half-hour : that fish will weigh six 
pounds if he weighs an ounce." 



52 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

I knew he was an old hero, but I hardly thought 
him so large as that. After calmly surveying the 
situation I tapped the butt of my rod with my finger, 
and he quickly responded with a whirl of the reel; 
at least seventy feet of line did he take before com- 
ing to a halt ; then he turned, and came towards us, 
I gathering in the slack as fast as possible ; fortu- 
nately he was so well hooked that I felt safe : now 
he took several swift turns around the boat within 
twenty feet of us, then off again with at least 
eighty before I dared check him. This amusement 
on his part was kept up, as my guide suggested it 
might be, for just about half an hour ; when as the 
sun had sunk behind the hills, and darkness was 
coming on, I began to feel slightly nervous, and a 
strong desire to see my fish safely landed ; and to 
this intent I cautioned my guide to be ready with 
the net, as he seemed now disposed to come to 
terms, and indeed allowed me to reel him in in a 
very quiet and sensible manner. " Now, then, stand 
ready with your net," and the sure-handed, quick- 
sighted one who scarce ever lost me a fish stood 
ready for his work — when, with a plunge and a 
rush, my anticipated trophy broke the water, turned 
over on its surface, snapped the casting-line, and 
disappeared beneath the calm waters of Trout Cove. 
I sat down upon the thwart of the boat, and my 



AN UNFORTUNATE DAY. 53 

guide did the same, facing each other. For nearly 
five minutes — no? well, say three — not a word 
was spoken. The first to break the silence was 
Cutting, and in these words : " Mr. Stevens, I'd 
given three days' pay rather than had you lose 
that trout : he was over six pounds " — 

" Charles, I would have doubled your pay rather 
than to have lost him. So much for using a last- 
year's leader." 

Don't do it, my young friends, or old friends. 
You may never have the occasion to regret doing 
so, as I did that evening, and you may save a six- 
pounder by not doing so. It might, you say, have 
been something else if not that : true, but I doubt 
it, for my fish was well hooked, and my guide cool 
and collected, and nothing but a weak casting-line 
cost me that fish. I purchase my flies and leaders 
nowadays almost exclusively, the latter always, of 
McBride, before mentioned. I like to write the 
old gentleman's name (he is gone now, and his 
daughter succeeds him in the business) : I never 
saw him, but I know he was an honest man, and I 
believe he loved the work he was engaged in ; at all 
events, he did it well, and when once he had pro- 
vided you with an outfit of these articles, to use a 
vulgar expression, you will never" go back" on 
him any more than they in some trying situation 



54 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

will go back on you. (A little digression induced 
by the remembrance of after-reflection and blasted 
hopes.) 

" Well, Cutting, that's the end of to-night's sport. 
Up anchor, and let's go home." 

Not much conversation on the road that night. 
Oh, laugh if you will, stoic ! call it silly to mourn 
over the loss of a single fish, were he the very levi- 
athan of the deep. But discard for a few years 
your city pleasures, and go a-fishing, pit your lightest 
tackle and your best intelligence against this wary, 
gamy fish ; and when, after becoming a lover of 
this healthful sport, you lose the largest trout you 
ever saw, you may perhaps indulge in the feelings 
we shared on our homeward tramp. 

The smell of Joe's cooking, the welcome of the 
waiting ones, and the rehearsal of the exciting 
strife, soon restored the accustomed frame of mind, 
a happy one ; and by the time that supper was ready 
the disappointment of the day was nearly forgotten 
in the anticipations of the morrow, — the morrow 
which was to be our last day in camp, and on the 
result of which high hopes were builded. 

"Don't you wish you had gone along, Charlie?" 
"Yes, stupid : why didn't you drag me?" 
" Oh, yes ! keep on stuffing at this rate, and you 
will want 'Old Brownie' and the buggy to take 
you over to the cove." 



AN UNFORTUNATE DAY. 



55 



"Do you think he would weigh six pounds, 
Stevens?" 

" Do I ? If you don't believe me, ask Cutting." 
And he did, and Cutting said, "Yes, more." 




CHAPTER V. 




GOOD- BY, JOE. 

UR last day in camp, and we had 
returned the preceding night with 
ardent hopes of a good day's sport, 
so much so, that for a wonder four 
o'clock in the morning found the 
three Charlies and the one " Frank" 
young man on their way to Trout Cove, — one of 
the Charlies already lamenting his share of the 
morning walk, and with all his love of the sport, 
which is great, wishing himself back again between 
his blankets. 

" I tell you it's no use, Stevens : trout ain't such 
fools as to get up before breakfast." 

" Oh ! then you think they take their early food 
as Hood says Thomson wrote about early rising, 
— lying in their beds." 

" Well, what's the use encouraging them in such 
56 



GOOD-BY, JOE. 57 

bad habits? You know the old story about the 
worm : if he hadn't been out, he wouldn't have 
been caught." 

" True enough, nor the bird have had his break- 
fast." 

"Did it ever occur to you, Charlie, that Nature 
in the abundant disposal of her gifts, and in her 
ample provisions for the lower orders, had so organ- 
ized and perfected her plans as to — as to — to " — 

" No, I never did ; that is, hardly. Ask me an 
easier one ; reserve, my boy, such an abundant flow 
of natural eloquence till after breakfast, do : a 
vacancy exists here, which even that half a cracker 
failed to fill, and I fear to dwell long upon so ab- 
struse a subject. Pass the tar, please : the flies are 
up early, at all events." 

"The flies, Charlie, — these, now, are another 
illustration, and show the wisdom of" — 

" Bringing along the tar? " 

And thus did the disturbed elements in the 
young man's frame show themselves as we trudged 
along over the well-trod road to the cove. 

"There, that's the last time I ever cast a fly 
before breakfast," was the next remark I heard from 
those amiable lips, as about an hour afterwards, 
after superhuman efforts to get a rise, he reeled up 
his line, and thus gave vent to his feelings in a 



58 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

somewhat tragic manner : " I knew just how it 
would be, and why didn't I know enough to lie 
abed?" 

" Pity we hadn't ; but we have gained some 
experience," said I, as I reeled up for a start. 

And so after all the success of the evening 
before, on the same spot, an hour's faithful fishing 
had failed to reward us with a single rise. Truly 
the ways of the trout are past finding out, but the 
fact is potent to every sportsman that sometimes 
you can and sometimes you can't. But we had a 
good appetite for Joe's " fried feesh " and griddle- 
cakes ; and, always determining to make the best of 
every thing, we exploded a little in vain ejacula- 
tions, and then went to breakfast. 

Now, to prove the truth of the foregoing classic 
and sage remark, that " sometimes you can," etc. 
After satisfying the demands of hunger, and chatting 
for awhile over our pipes, we again set out for Trout 
Cove ; and this time we did not return until about 
forty beautiful fish, after having given us all the 
sport that heart could wish, had joined a large 
number of their captured companions, and were 
listening in the confines of our cars to their tale of 
captivity. 

It was on the last day of our camp-life that poor 
Joe was destined to receive a surprise that almost 



GOOD-BY, JOE. 59 

overcame his natural serenity, and threw him into 
the depths of profound amazement. In looking 
over our remaining stores, which we had taken to 
camp, Mrs. S. found a couple of cans of corn, 
which somehow had been overlooked, and sent 
them in to Joe, by one of the guides, with the re- 
quest to have them for dinner. Now, Joe, although 
a good cook, and, as we already know, possessed 
of other valuable characteristics, had in youth re- 
ceived no book-education, and could neither read 
nor write ; and though he knew the contents of a 
can of tomatoes, by the picture of the fruit on the 
outside, he was in profound ignorance of the con- 
tents of these. So in he came to madam to ask 
for an explanation : but somehow the poor fellow's 
brain was muddled, and we couldn't make him 
understand the contents; so we appealed to one 
of his remaining senses, his eyesight, and opened 
the cans for him. The consternation depicted on 
his countenance must have been seen to be appre- 
ciated; he drew himself up to his full height, 
and this exclamation burst from his lips : " Mrs. 
Steven, my God, it is corn ! " Corn on the 
ear, and corn in a can, were, to his uneducated 
mind, as widely separated as a corn on the foot 
from acorn on the oak. 

I have just learned that Joe has left the camp, 



60 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

gone forever, unless he goes back as a visitor to the 
secluded spot where he has spent so many years 
of his life. An(f though many, perhaps, who peruse 
these pages, may only have known him in these 
simple sketches, those who have will look back 
upon his stewardship with a partial feeling of re- 
gret that in future his gray hairs will be missed, 
and his peculiar speech heard no more. Good-by, 
Joe ! may your declining years be made happy ; if 
not in the companionship of loved ones, at least in 
the thought that you have made others happy, and 
done the best, in your simple way, to improve the 
few talents committed to your care. 

It was a hot day, this last in camp, for even in 
the far-off mountain regions does the sun proclaim 
his mastery ; and so after dinner we had no dispo- 
sition to interview his sunship's burning glances, 
but preferred the shadow of the camp, with its cool- 
ing draughts, to the shining surface of the cove or 
stream. Mrs. S. was lazily perusing the last pages 
of " Put Yourself in his Place," too immensely 
satisfied, however, with her easy rocking-chair, to 
think of doing so. Charlie was lying at full length, 
upon the lounge, his hands clasped above his head, 
his eyes gazing from his tarry countenance into the 
starry realms above. I was making myself as com- 
fortable as three chairs, a sofa-pillow, and a bowl 



GOOD-BY, JOE. 6 1 

of natural leaf, with a cherry-stem attachment, 
could make me : when suddenly my reveries were 
slightly disturbed, and the book fell from the mad- 
am's hands, as Charlie repeated the question, which 
he at first pronounced as if thinking aloud, — 

" Do you expect to die a natural death? " 

Now, of all subjects in the range of my thoughts, 
this was about the farthest removed ; and, though 
in some situations this was a question which might 
very naturally have been asked, it fell like a thun- 
derbolt in our midst ; and I, recovering my wan- 
dering senses, Yankee-like, answered his question 
by asking another : " Why ? " 

" I was only thinking : travelling as much as you 
do, and tumbling about as you are in the habit of 
doing, that it would be a wonder if you should not 
some day break your neck, run off the track, or 
drown yourself." 

"Thank you for such interesting reflections in 
regard to my earthly exit. As for the latter, I don't 
believe that fate is ordained for me, as three times 
I have been overboard, and once remained so long 
in the water that those most interested in my fu- 
ture existence had about given me up. The old 
adage, ' A man that's born to be,' &c, you know ; 
and, as for a sudden death not being a natural 
death, in a great many cases of course it is, and 



62 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

much more to be desired, according to my way of 
thinking, than a lingering, hopeless decay." 

" Well, I agree with you fully as to that ; but seri- 
ously, in all your travels have you not been in some 
trying situation, where you felt for a longer or 
shorter time your life was actually in danger? " 

" Oh, yes ! several times." 

" What was the most fearful, the one where you 
suffered the most in the shortest time?" 

"As to that, I don't think I feared or suffered 
much in either case, — certainly no physical suffer- 
ing, and scarcely any mental ; but I have often 
looked back to one rash incident of my life as 
being, as well as perhaps very foolish, very danger- 
ous, and in which for a few minutes I felt my life 
hung in the balances." 

"What was that?" 

"You have been to Quebec?" 

"Yes." 

"And the Falls of Montmorency? " 

" I have. I believe they are a hundred feet 
higher than Niagara." 

" Nearly." 

"You didn't imitate the illustrious Sam Patch, 
and jump them, did you ? " 

"Not exactly, but I slid down them in winter." 

"That's a cool statement : explain yourself." 



GOOD-BY, JOE. 6$ 

"You have heard of the famous ice-cone that is 
formed at the foot of the fall in winter, by the 
spray freezing upon the rocks, until it reaches nearly 
the base of the cataract, and forms almost a sugar- 
loaf in appearance, and about two hundred feet in 
height?" 

" Yes, I saw a picture of it at the Russell House, 
last summer." 

" Well, I slid down that cone once on an Indian 
' tarbogan,' a sort of double-ended sled ; and I 
think, for rapid locomotion and dangerous situa- 
tions, that you could give points to the most daring 
aeronaut that ever sought the eastern current 
through the boundless immensity of space." 

" How did you get to the top? " 

" By steps cut in the solid ice, and I think now 
that I should go up a good many times rather than 
slide down once. There were several in our party ; 
and we were bantering each other in regard to tak- 
ing the slide, when, being younger and rather more 
reckless than the rest of the party, I determined to 
make the descent. 

" Seating myself behind the Indian, and grasping 
him about the middle, my legs clasping his firmly, 
we started. Yes, I am quite sure we started, and 
I am just as sure that a moment afterward I wished 
we hadn't. I said we slid, better, that we flew, for 



6d FLY-FISHING IX MAINE LAKES. 

we dashed down at the rate of seventy miles an 
hour j breathing was out of the question, and think- 
ing almost. But once started, nothing was to be 
done, but. I >avy Crockett like, ' go ahead ; ' and go 
ahead we did till, in a much less time than I have 
been describing it, we were far out upon the icy 
surface of the St. Lawrence." 

•• And you didn't try it again, I imagine." 

"Not much. It was dangerous sport. As one 
of the part\- said. ' I wouldn't mind sliding down 
the roof of a house, but from the eaves to the 
ground — excuse me.' " 

" So you think that was the most dangerous 
incident of your life?" 

" So far as I am able to be the judge, I most cer- 
tainly do ; for the slightest break or mismanagement 
on the part of the guide would have certainly cost 
a limb, most likely a life." 

" Well, from my recollection of the picture, I 
should class such an undertaking 'extra hazard- 
ous.' " 

" Positively, I never have looked at that picture 
since, without a shudder, and a wonder that I 
should have done what so few attempt." 

"Really, old fellow, I didn't think my abrupt 
remark would have drawn out so long a story." 

"No: I suppose, if you had, you scarce would 
have made it? " 



GOOD-BY, JOE. 65 

" Perhaps." 

" Charlie, did you ever see a spook? " 

"A what?" 

" A spook, ghost." 

" Oh, certainly ! a ghost — of a chance." 

" No \ but sincerely, did you ever see a bona-fide 
ghost?" 

" Not much." 

" I have : shall I tell you about it ? 

" No, excuse me : I fear I should only detect 
symptoms of a disordered stomach." 

" You may laugh : a poor argument that, against 
ten senses." 

"Ten? I thought we had but five." 

" True enough, but she saw it too. Fact, Char- 
lie." 

" Well, I don't quite see the ten yet. You didn't 
smell or taste his ghostship, did you? " 

" No, we did not : you have me there ; but we 
both heard, saw, and felt it ; and you could no 
more convince either of us that it was not a verit- 
able spirit than that we are not now at Upper 
Dam Camp." 

" Well, let's have it." 

" No, not to-day : perhaps some time we'll tell 
you all about it, when that time comes, as it some 
time will, when more will believe that there are 



66 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

such sights to be seen ; when all will be more ready 
to admit that there are more things in heaven and 
earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy." 

" Shakspeare, hem ! as Dr. Pangloss would say." 

"Yes, the immortal bard, as I think I once heard 
him called. By the way, Charlie, what character of 
his resembles a cart-rut? " 

" Give it up." 

" Pericles." 

-Why?" 

" Because he's the Prince of Tyre." 

"Oh ! take something, won't you?" 

" No, I thank you." 

" I have a conundrum, boys," said Mrs. S., who 
had been, up to this time, a very patient listener, 
having put " Put Yourself in his Place " in a safe 
place, and devoted herself to the present company. 
"Shall I ask it?" 

" Certainly ! " from both of us. 

" It's original." 

" Oh, then it must be good ! " again from both 
of us. 

" Why was Jeff Davis, when he was captured, 
like Bunker-hill Monument?" 

"When did you originate that?" 

" Never mind : can you guess? " 

"Jeff Davis like Bunker-hill Monument" — 



GOOD-BY, JOE. 67 

"Yes, when he was captured." 

" Because he — no, he wasn't, that's a fact. Why 
was Jeff Davis — Oh, let's give it up, Charlie ! " 

" I'm willing." 

"Well, we give it up." 

" That's as far as I have got : I haven't made an 
answer yet. So far, I think it's pretty good ; don't 
you?" 

" Y-e-s, r-a-t-h-e-r. — Charles, isn't it about time 
to try the pool?" 

"I was just thinking so, myself. Excuse me, 
Mrs. Stevens: 'Why was Jeff ? ' — ' Walker ' "— 
and we left the madam to her august reflections. 

The pool, or rather the trout which were sup- 
posed to be in it, were as lazy as we had been, and 
refused all endeavors on our part to come to the 
surface. After a variety of flies Charlie proposed 
a yeast-cake, thought that might make them rise. 
I responded by suggesting a volume of " Young's 
Night Thoughts," thinking that might possibly turn 
their thoughts upwards : but suggesting and acting 
were all to no purpose ; like a lazy schoolboy they 
were determined not to rise, and they didn't. 

It wasn't just pleasant to be obliged to give it up 
so on the last day, but there was no alternative ; so it 
was reel up, and leave them to the next comers. I 
do think, for a moment, that Charlie felt like going 



68 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE IAKES. 

back to first principles, and worming out a few from 
his once (for this pot-hunting performance) favorite 
pier. But his truer sporting feelings predominated ; 
and we were content to talk about past victories, 
and look forward to a season yet to come when we 
should return to our favorite haunts, and again 
listen to the rushing roar of Royal River, as it 
foams, eddies, and sparkles amid its leaf-fringed 
banks in its short yet most beautiful and pictur- 
esque windings to the majestic lake which receives 
it. 

And this evening we linger long and lovingly 
upon the most favored spots, where we can drink 
in the full glories of the sunset hour, for we feel 
that when we retrace our steps to camp, packing 
up is next in order ; and though we ought to be, 
and no doubt are, thankful for the pleasant homes 
to which we may return, yet there is not quite so 
much anticipation or enthusiasm in packing up to 
return to them, as after they have nurtured and 
sheltered us for nearly a year we are willing to leave 
them without the faintest suspicion of regret. 

Here is a splendid opportunity to moralize, and 
wind up my chapter on the beauties of home, the 
necessity of recreation, etc. ; but as my moral- 
"Liza" is averse to being flattered, and there are 
some poor forlorn bachelors among my friends, 



GOOD-BY, JOE. 



69 



who may read these sketches, and wish they had 
when they could as well as not, we will skip all 
reflections of this nature, and, bidding you good- 
night, call you early in the morning to witness our 
preparations for departure. 









CHAPTER VI. 




DEPARTURE. 

HE next morning we arose early ; 
but our guides had been up hours 
before us, and the lung row of 
beautiful trout, spread upon the 
grass preparatory to packing for 
friends at home, greeted our admiring eyes as we 
saluted the morning air. 

Various are the methods of packing trout for 
transportation. I clean mine, and pack them in 
moss which has been thoroughly dried in the sun, 
placing a goodly quantity of ice at the top and bot- 
tom of the box, but none in close proximity to the 
fish. Except in extremely hot weather. I have 
found that trout packed in this manner reach Bos- 
ton in very fine order, and have quite a trouty 
taste and appearance; but — and it's a long but 

— if one wishes to know the true taste and flavor 
70 



DEPARTURE. 71 

of the trout, they must go to them : the transport 
of eating is lessened by transportation, and their 
radiant spots must be seen on the spot. This 
many of you well know : and those among my 
readers who do not, will, I hope, take the first 
opportunity of proving it themselves ; they, also, 
will be improved thereby. 

" I am sorry you go, Miss Stevens : you have egg, 
boil, ten minutes ; you have ham, cold, for lunch, 
yes," was Joe's salutation, as we sat down to break- 
fast. 

" Plenty men, my God ! few women," contin- 
ued Joe, without waiting for a reply from the mad- 
am, who was unconsciously blushing at so nattering 
a farewell, but who at last sufficiently recovered to 
thank Joe for his compliment. 

A regretful feeling, on the part of us all, that this 
is our parting meal, renders us less enthusiastic over 
the freshly-killed trout, which Joe has cooked with 
unusual care, and we eat like those who go, rather 
than those who come ; but we shall soon regain 
our appetites, for a pleasant journey is before us. 

Our traps, already packed, are hoisted upon the 
backs of our ever-willing guides ; and we are gath- 
ering our lighter articles to follow with them to the 
landing. It is a glorious morning, and the wind is 
fair : as we shall have plenty of time, we stop on our 



72 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

way at Whitney's Camp, where we pass the compli- 
ments of the day with brother Cole, whom we find 
sole occupant of this delightful retreat. 

Here we are again, just entering the narrows ; 
and, true to Charlie Cutting's prophecy, we have a 
head-wind at first, and shortly none at all : the 
sail flaps idly against the mast, and the boys fill 
their pipes preparatory to a practical lesson on the 
enlargement of muscle. 

While they row along leisurely, as usual, we 
amuse ourselves by waking the echoes of the dis- 
tant hills, or chaffing each other on various events 
that have transpired during our pleasant sojourn 
among the hills. Soon the narrows are passed ; 
and a famous spurt, which would do credit to a 
college crew, and reminding us of Tom Moore's 
pretty little song, — 

" Row, brothers, row ! the stream runs fast, 
The rapids are near, and the daylight's past," — 

brings us, in quite a lively manner, upon the wa- 
ters of the lower lake. Now a fine breeze springs 
up, and once more we hoist our sail to its speed- 
ing influence. A short hour and a half brings us 
to the arm of the lake, where ten days ago we 
bade good-by to Uncle John Merrill, and where we 
are to-day to meet him and his comfortable buck- 
board. 



DEPARTURE. 73 

We have just time to build a fire, for Charlie and 
the madam would die if they couldn't have their 
cup of tea, when we hear a crackling of the bushes, 
and a trampling of feet ; and the old black mare, 
her tail revolving like a windmill, in vain attempts 
to switch off the flies, followed by Uncle John's 
smiling face and white beard, emerges from a wil- 
derness of leaves. 

"Well, boys, what luck?" was John's first salu- 
tation, as with the back of his hand he brushed 
the perspiration, and a few black flies, from his 
forehead. 

" Splendid." 

"Capital." 

"Lovely," — was the quick response from the 
united voices (I leave it to the reader to distin- 
guish them), as we point with pride to the boxes, 
under which the guides are struggling, and which 
soon are securely lashed to the buckboard, and 
are completely sheltered from the sun by John's 
forethought in covering them, as the robins did the 
little babes in the woods, " all over with leaves." 

" Any thing new down in the world, John, — the 
wicked world? " 

"No, nothing to speak of: hay's promisin'." 

Our thoughts just then were farther on than the 
hay-fields, — to the region of bricks and granite, 



74 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

where are heard a Babel of voices and the din of 
the city; but a fresh application of tar (for at the 
Arm the mosquitoes and flies hold high carnival) 
soon turned the tenor of our thoughts to time pres- 
ent. After a hearty lunch, our own enriched by a 
few slices of cold spring lamb and a nice little 
leaf-lined box of wild strawberries which Mrs. 
Merrill's thoughtfulness had provided, from John's 
end of the route, we were ready for a start. The 
horses, having also finished their dinner, were quite 
ready and willing to leave this " winged begirt spot," 
although knowing that a long and hard journey 
was before them. 

Such a heap of talk, and such wonderful yarns, 
did we pour into John's ears for the first hour of our 
homeward ride ! I don't wonder, remembering 
our volubility, that the poor man said, if I'd drive, 
he guessed he'd walk, as 'twas rather hard on the 
horses. Hard for him, too, perhaps : but John 
was always patient, and a willing listener to stories 
oft repeated ; and never would he, by look or ac- 
tion, seek to throw discredit on the largest, most 
extravagant tale. Only once, he couldn't swallow 
the bear-story which Badger and Richardson, from 
the Middle Dam. had been bruin for OUT edifica- 
tion, and with which they filled our listening ears 
on our arrival at Andover. 



DEPARTURE. 75 

"I don't believe it," said John: "bears don't 
act that way — leastwise, when they have cubs;" 
and that ended the discussion, so far as John was 
concerned ; and we, — why, we thought as John did. 
And it soon turned out that there was no bear and 
no cubs, and they didn't come out of the woods to 
frighten sportsmen from Boston, who hadn't said, 
" Go up, baldhead ! " 

John was walking briskly along some distance in 
advance of the buckboard, a heavy stick in one 
hand, and a twig of green in the other with which 
he was brushing away at the moving insects, when 
suddenly he turned and motioned us to stop : com- 
ing towards us, he pointed to a spot ahead, where 
his keen eye had discovered a partridge with her 
brood lurking in the bushes by the roadside. 

Jumping from the buckboard, I hurried to the 
spot, thinking to catch a sight, a novel one to me, 
of the young brood. When I was apparently right 
among them, the old bird started down the road, 
limping and dragging one wing upon the ground, 
appearing to be very much crippled, either by the 
hand of man or by some of the denizens of the 
wilderness. 

John saw the bird running away, and shouted to 
me to catch it ; which I nearly succeeded in doing, 
several times getting my hand almost upon it, when 



id FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LANES. 

a greater exertion of the wounded fowl would take 
her just beyond my reach. Suddenly, to my great 
surprise, but evidently not to John's, whose loud 
guffaws reached my ears, the poor lame creature 
spread its wings, and, " swift as an arrow from an 
archer's bow," sped away from me, and was soon 
lost to sight in the abundant foliage. 

I don't know just how I felt when I reached the 
buckboard on the home stretch. I am unable to 
describe just how a man does feel when he appre- 
ciates that he has been sold : comment, however, is 
unnecessary — probably " you know how it is, your- 
self." 

And why should his best friend, and the wife of 
his bosom, join with a gray-haired sire in endeav- 
oring to outdo each other in hilarity, when only 
laziness kept the two former from falling into the 
same trap ? Such, I am sorry to say, was the fact ; 
and when I now refer to it, as an incident of the 
past, to one sitting beside me, poring over " The 
Newcomes," all the satisfaction I get is — 

"You were pretty well sold, weren't you?" As 
if she, "poor thing," didn't fondly expect partridge 
that night for supper ! 

I do not propose to argue upon the reasoning 
faculties of the species in general, or my individual 
partridge, and have only stated a fact, which, to 



DEPARTURE. 77 

three of our party at that time was entirely new 
and strange, but which Uncle John assured us he had 
often seen before, — the parent bird thus endeavor- 
ing by cunning artifice to draw attention from its 
brood, by encouraging a hope of easy capture of 
itself; for it takes but a few moments for the young 
to conceal themselves so effectually, that you may 
pass them on every side, and not discover their 
hiding-places. 

After passing the Notch, finding we are in good 
time, we improvise a couple of rods by cutting 
birch-saplings, and coax out from a few pools in 
Black River, whose course our road follows, some 
thirty or forty trout in a much less number of min- 
utes. 

These trout average about three ounces, and are 
most delicate eating. The stream is full of them : 
I think a lively fisherman could capture three hun- 
dred in a day, and not have to travel far either. 
Having taken all we needed for our supper, we are 
off again for Andover, which we reach in quite a 
fresh condition at about five o'clock. 

And now commences the putting-off of tar and 
fisherman's clothing, and putting on cleanliness 
and city habiliments ; for we are once more in civ- 
ilized society, and must conduct ourselves after the 
manner of men. At nine o'clock the stage arrives, 



78 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

and brings a few sportsmen, whose ears we regale 
with marvellous fish-stories, sending them to bed 
with bright anticipations of the sport in store for 
them. 

B and I were smoking our last pipe on the 

piazza, watching the moon as it sank behind the 
far-off hills, both of us in a dreamy, half-uncon- 
scious state, when suddenly he turned to me, and 
in a serious tone of voice propounded the follow- 
ing momentous question : — 

" Stevens, which had you rather — or go a-fish- 
ing?" 

This remark was not new : I had heard the same 
question put in the same manner, for the first time, 
several years after, and double that number before. 
Neither was the time or place appropriate for such 
a question. I was displeased that he should put it 
in that manner : it hurt my feelings ; and, more than 
that, it made me mad. I cast upon him a withering 
look ; and with all the theatrical scorn I could 
crowd into the short sentence I replied, — 

"B , you're a fool. Go to bed." And he 

did, and so did I. 




CHAPTER VII. 




ON THE ROAD. 

HALL I mention his name ? 

It is S . He is an undertaker. 

He sits at his window on Tremont 
Street ; and, as I pass up and down 
in the horse-cars, I often have a 
bow from him, also a sweet smile, being an ac- 
quaintance. 

I know what he is saying to himself : — 
" One of these days, old fellow ! I'm waiting, 
waiting patiently ; but you must come to my little 
net one of these days." 

I don't think an undertaker is a cheerful acquaint- 
ance anyway ; and I wouldn't care to add many 
to my list of friends, though without doubt they 
are an excellent class of people, but they look at 
you as if you were somehow their property, only to 
be waited for. 

79 



8o FLY- FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

It makes me just a little provoked sometimes, 
when Mr. S. smiles so blandly at me ; and as vaca- 
tion time comes around, and I begin to lag a little, 
and the work of the year shows itself in the face 
and frame, somehow my friend's smiles grow more 
bland. Far be it from me to suspect that there is 
a trifle of business in that look : not for the world ! 

But as I disrobe myself to-night, and feel the 
renewed strength and the elasticity of youth, and 
the mirror reflects the bronzed countenance, the 
arms browned and strengthened (having just re- 
turned from a glorious camping vacation, not only 
the arms but the accompaniments), I feel that I 
have got a little start on my friend, and I chuckle 
inwardly to think that the next time his smile will 
be less "childlike and bland," and that he will be 
obliged to lengthen my lease a little. 

I felt that way, so far as renewed strength is con- 
cerned, as I jumped out of bed the morning after 
our arrival at Andover. 

We had been watching a little cricket, running in 
and out among those fresh green spruce and pine 
boughs with which Mrs. Merrill, like many other 
farmers' wives, had adorned her fireplace. 

He had been chirping merrily for quite a while, 
and of course we were reminded of the genial 
author who has almost immortalized him. 



ON THE ROAD. 81 

It was rather rude and unpoetical on my part, 
after the madam had been so enthusiastic over him, 
to ask her why a cricket was any more lovable 
than a water-bug. Her reply was as feminine as it 
was satisfactory : " I guess it's because they don't 
get into things you don't want them to, little harm- 
less creatures ! " Then I was mean enough to say, 
" Don't you think, if we had as many crickets in 
our kitchen as water-bugs, they would be equally as 
troublesome ? " 

"Well, but we don't." 

"That's true," said I; "but"— And I was 
about to proceed with a forcible argument to show 
that like precious stones, rare coins, and the like, 
the " little harmless creature " was beloved because 
he was scarce, and not often found in the pantry ; 
but I happened to remember the argument we had 
in camp, in regard to the difference of our watches, 
and refrained. I never do like to argue with a 
woman on general principles, with my wife for par- 
ticular reasons : I prefer the barber. It is much 
more comfortable to have it cut off than pulled out, 
and the difference in the expense is trifling. One 
other reason also for not prolonging the argument : 
I believe in crickets, I don't in water- bugs ; and 
arguing for the sake of argument, before breakfast, 
is absurd. 



82 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

Such a charming morning, such an appetite for 
breakfast, and such a breakfast ! tiny trout, mere 
fingerlings, fried so crisp they were simply deli- 
cious ; thin slices of dry toast with the sweetest of 
butter; griddle cakes upon which we poured the 
purest of maple sirup ; coffee without the slightest 
suspicion of chiccory, mantled with the richest 
cream, — no wonder that we felt regretful at leav- 
ing such an hostelry. 

Next to a meal under one's own roof, where 
your own and your loved one's tastes are known 
and catered to, give me one like this, though served 
in simple manner : let the cloth be white and clean, 
the napkins large and ditto, the forks four-tined, 
— I ask no more. For me no costly service, no 
elaborate bill of fare at hotel of high-sounding 
name, has half the charm. I have tried both ; the 
latter too much for comfort, the former — well, I 
hope next year may find us there again. 

Good-by, John ! may the winter's frosts deal 
gently with thee and thine, and returning spring 
bring with it renewed strength and vigor, and bring 
us too, John, all of us, to this much-loved spot. 

" Deacon, those three top seats, remember." 

" Oh, they'll be all right ! no danger of any- 
body's wantin' 'em at this end but your folks : 
country people like the inside best." 



ON THE ROAD. 83 

Which is a fact I have often noticed, but whether 
it can be explained by the same process of reason- 
ing that will enable us to tell why Boston people 
never visit Bunker-hill Monument, I am unable to 
say. I only know, and knew it long before the 
Deacon mentioned it that morning, and many of 
my readers will bear me out in the fact, having un- 
doubtedly witnessed the same thing very many 
times themselves, and which was, as Mr. Squeers 
would say, in this instance " a very pleasant thing 
for all parties." 

And so, after seeing the traps well and snugly 
stowed, we mount to our lofty positions, and find 
ourselves nearly on a level with the top of Uncle 
John's piazza. 

The last duty, that of receiving the mail-bag 
from the hands of Mr. Purington, having been per- 
formed, the great morning event of the day takes 
place ; and amid the good-bys of our friends, the 
barking of a few village curs, and the rumbling of 
wheels, we are fast leaving the scenes of so many 
delightful pleasures. 

" Take your last look at Old Bald Pate, friends, 
for there will be less hair upon your own, perhaps, 
when next his form you see : some deeper shadows 
than those resting upon his leafy bosom may cross 
your path before you come again. What, woman ! 



$4 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

shedding a few tears? well done! Not tears, 
merely a little dust in your eyes, is it? Well, I 
wouldn't have ridiculed them, were they of joy at 
pleasures past, or a passing fear of what may come 
hereafter ; but better, much better the former, and 
I know you too well to believe it could be the 
latter." 

From the first person singular to the first person 
plural ; and which of us shall hold the umbrella, is 
now the subject of anxious debate ; for although — 

"As yet the early rising sun 
Has not attained his noon," — 

and there is little fear of his deepening the tints of 
ruddy brown upon our faces, yet a covering such 
as this gives a subdued tone to the pretty farm 
scenes about us, and enables us to gaze with a 
clearer vision upon the far-off hills, which, like 
mighty barriers, seem to hem us in on every side. 
Naturally in this discussion the madam gracefully 
withdrew, and hid herself under another covering, 
— that of her sex, woman's rights being for the 
moment forgotten. It remained, therefore, for the 
question to be decided between Charlie and myself; 
which was settled somewhat summarily by the 
Deacon, who remarked that " he guessed the little 
fellow couldn't hold it against the wind anyhow : " 



ON THE ROAD. 85 

so I spread the gingham, and prayed for passing 
clouds. 

And now the summit of Zurkin comes into view, 
is seen for an hour, then fades and disappears be- 
hind the many lesser hills which border our path- 
way ; we cross the Androscoggin again, and Rum- 
ford greets our sight ; and we regret to hear, as we 
leave the hotel where we change horses, that our 
female friend, she of the eloquent tongue, has been 
ingulfed in a torrent of her own eloquence, and 
perchance now in other lands beyond the stars is to 
coming strangers unveiling the glories that await 
them. 

But we must not allow sober thoughts to detract 
from the pleasure of this glorious ride ; and, to tell 
the truth, she didn't die, had merely returned to 
her home as we were doing — let us hope, with a 
soul as fully satisfied as ours. 

"That there plant which you see, that little 
patch down yonder, on that sidehill, 'is terbacker. 
The chap that lives there come from Connecticut : 
he's trying to raise it, but I guess it won't come to 
much." 

This from the Deacon, to party in the family 
circle. 

" Well, Deacon, let us hope he will succeed ; for, 
if it is a curse, it is a most fascinating and enjoya- 



S6 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

ble one, to say the least : so forgive me for quot- 
ing one who knew all about it, — hush ! 

* Sublime tobacco ! which from east to west 
Cheers the tar's labor or the Turkman's rest ; 
Divine in hookahs, glorious in a pipe, 
When tipped with amber, mellow, rich, and ripe; 
Like other charmers, wooing the caress 
More dazzlinglv when daring in full dress ; 
Yet thy true lovers more admire by far 
Thy naked beauties — give me a cigar ! ' 

" One of those little ones, Charlie, I fain would 
smoke ; and hold the umbrella, my boy, while I 
light and prepare for the remaining ten miles." 

A puff of the fragrant smoke into the left nostril 
of the Deacon wakes him from a revery, and causes 
him to tickle the right ear of the off leader, at the 
same time reminding him of a little " swap " he 
made with a brother stage-driver a few days before. 
How he chuckled over the good trade he made ! 
and the nigh pole horse got an extra " cut " in 
token of his satisfaction. Very likely the part}- oi 
the second part might, even then, be relating to 
some willing listeners by his side the story of how 
he "jewed the Deacon : " at all events, there never 
was a man but thought his the better trade in 
u swapping horses." 

The Deacon's experiences brought forth a similar 



ON THE ROAD. 87 

one 011 the part of the " little fellow ; " and the pure 
fresh air soon roused us to song and shout, and we 
behaved very much like a party of school-children, 
who were soon to resume their desks and studies ; 
and very likely we felt like them, for well we knew 
that all too soon were we to put off our country 
manners and customs, and don our city ways. 

The madam thought the elderberry-wine, which 
we surreptitiously obtained at a wayside "agency," 
had something to do with raising our spirits ; feel- 
ing she might possibly be correct, we lowered the 
spirits accordingly, which reminds me, memo., never 
say " elderberry" to Charlie again. 

In due time we arrived at Bryant's Pond to find 
nearly half of the male inhabitants of the village 
bear-hunting; for under cover of the night, and 
having not the fear of the selectmen before his 
eyes, one of these audacious fellows had descended 
from his mountain fastness to the plains below, 
and taken from under their very noses a goodly 
quantity of fine spring lamb ; and now with many 
a weapon, from the old queen's-arm which gran'ther 
used in the Revolution, to the last breech-loader in 
the hands of the great-grandson just arrived from 
town, they had gone in search of his bearship. 

I had almost a mind to say that the old chap 
knew something was bruin ; but it's cheap, I pause, 



SS FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

and simply say he was too much for them ; for, 
as one by one returned from the hunt, it was the 
same story, " nary bear." The anger and mortifi- 
cation showed itself strongest in the young men, as 
visions of untold quantities of bear's-grease, with 
which to anoint their flowing locks for some fair 
Dulcinea's gaze, had danced before their eyes and 
vanished forever. 

The landlord at whose house we dined shrugged 
his shoulders in a manner which seemed to say, 
" It's lucky, old fellow, for your hide, that I didn't 
go out." "You see, marm," said he, "there ain't 
many of 'em as knows a bear's ways ; " and the 
madam said "Yes." But, for all of his vanity and 
self-assurance, he gave us a good dinner ; to which, 
thanks to the bracing stage-ride and the elderberry, 
we brought good appetites. 

"And so, my dear boy, you are fully and irrevo- 
cably fixed in your decision, are you ? Very well, 
then, we very soon must part." 

This to Charlie, whom we had endeavored to 
prevail upon to accompany us to the White Hills, 
now so near ; but " circumstances over which he 
had no control " rendered it necessary that lie 
should return, and so here was to be cur parting. 
And here, then, kind reader, shall we part ; lor tin's 
fishing stury is at an end, unless you will take the 



ON THE ROAD. 89 

journey, no doubt a familiar one to you, and go 
with us through one more chapter, and revel once 
more in your mind's eye among the glories of 
those cloud-capped mountains. 

But, as I have said, this fishing story is at an end ; 
not for want of material, for there are other scenes 
and other times of equal pleasure that crowd my 
memory as I write these lines. And so will it ever 
be to you, my friend, should you, even in your 
later years, take up the angler's art : it grows with 
its growth, and strengthens with its strength, and, 
if uncurbed, may perchance, with many of us, be- 
come a passion. 

But, for all that, it will fill the storehouse of our 
memories with many a scene of unalloyed pleasure, 
which in the sunset of life we may look back upon 
with fondest satisfaction. 

If in the minds of any one of you who as yet 
are ignorant of the charm of fishing, as it has here 
been revealed, I have induced the desire for a test, 
"stand not "ipon the order of your going, but 
go at once," provided it be the season, and, the 
word of an old fisherman for it, you will thank 
me for these random pages. 

If you do not, the pleasure it has been to talk over 
past experiences as I write, with the one to whom 
these pages are dedicated, has been sufficient, with- 



9° 



FLY-FISHIXG IX MAIXE LAKES. 



out the additional satisfaction of fresh converts to 
the gentle art. 

" Charlie, I hear the whistle : for a few days, fare- 
well ; and remember, for it's worth your while, — 

Should cutters cut up like the deuce, 

And customers gang fail, 
You've interviewed the gamesome trout, 

And thereby 'hangs a tale.' " 

" Good-by. Mrs. S , and old Stevens, and be 

sure you don't tumble down the mountain." 
And so we parted. 




CHAPTER VIII. 



THE WHITE HILLS. 




w JROM my boyhood days I have been 

\%w^&F> taught almost to reverence them ; 

not taught, but naturally, from early 

association, I looked up to them, — 

literally so ; for from the windows 

of my home I could, on a clear 

spring day, see the snow-clad peak 

of Mount Washington glistening under the warm 

sunlight. 

And, to be more practical, the first real feast of 
apples I ever enjoyed was from a barrel, all my 
own, sent to me by a good woman of North Con- 
way, who said it was a pity "the boy couldn't, 
for once, have all the apples he wanted." Could 
I ever forget her, dear Susan Hanson, afterward the 
wife of the late celebrated portrait-painter of our 
city, Albert Hoyt ? 

91 



92 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

Her mountain home was under the shadow of 
those lordly hills. Then the pictured story of the 
Willey family, as seen in our early geographies, 
telling in such vivid language the story of their 
sudden destruction : these, and oft-repeated stories 
of our New England hills, the sight of the well- 
filled and top-crowded stage-coach, driven by that 
pioneer of mountain travel, Joseph Smith, the 
veteran whom all old Portlanders will well remem- 
ber, united to fix indelibly in my young mind the 
wish that I might soon be old enough to be indulged 
with a nearer view of what, to my youthful imagina- 
tion, seemed a world beyond my ken. 

And so I grew up to love and revere these 
" Hills ; " and from my first ascent of Mount Wash- 
ington, by bridle-path from Crawford's, to later 
ones by rail, from the same starting-point, and by 
carriage-road from the Glen, till now, when with 
past memories fresh in my mind I look forward 
with fond anticipation of renewed enjoyment, I 
feel, as it were, that these hills were a part of the 
better part of myself. 

And for far more than what I have written. — for 
the remembrance of those excursions includes the 
memory of a brother, a wife, and a mother, who 
shared the excitement of the ascent, and the 
rich return in the sublimity of the scenes spread 



THE WHITE HILLS. 93 

out at one's feet, whether in sunshine or in storm, 
when from the heavy clouds below came the crash- 
ing of the artillery of heaven," and the mutterings of 
the tempest, or when the glad sunlight lit up the 
distant hills, and made the countless lakes and 
streams beneath to sparkle and glow like sheets of 
silver. 

But it is forward, and not backward, we must 
now look ; and our landlord informs us that the 
train is about due which is to take us to Gorham. 
It soon appears; and we are seated, — not in com- 
pany with the multitude, but, through the courtesy 
of the engineer, we are allowed the " first seat in 
the synagogue," and place ourselves by his side in 
the cab of the locomotive. 

"With pleasure, if you will take your own risk," 
was that gentleman's reply to my request for the 
privilege of a seat beside him. I do not think, 
aside from the novelty of the situation, the change 
from the accustomed seat was a favorable one. 
There was a little satisfaction in being ahead, but 
not so much in being jolted from side to side in a 
manner strongly suggestive of getting a little too 
far on one side, and not getting back in season. 

From Bryant's Pond to Gorham, where we take 
stage for the Glen House, the distance is about 
twenty-five miles ; and at four in the afternoon we 



94 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

reach that well-known locality. Here at that time, 
but which has since been burned, was a fine hotel, 
— the Alpine House, — where the traveller from a 
distance would often stay for a day or two, to re- 
cover from the fatigues of his journey, and enjoy 
the fine view of the mountains to be had at this 
point. But the stage-coach, and a nearer view of 
the hills, had more charms for us ; and so, amid the 
rush of happy tourists, we climb to our lofty outside 
seats. 

The fall before our visit, Mr. J. M. Thompson, 
who for many years had been the proprietor of the 
" Glen," was drowned during one of the greatest 
freshets that had occurred for many years, and 
which completely changed the course of many of 
the mountain streams. 

His sons were this year keeping the hotel, in 
company with Mr. Stephen Cummings of Portland. 
The care of the horses and carriages devolved 
upon Mr. Whitney Thompson, and the office 
duties upon another son, Charles, — all old school 
acquaintances. That the stable duties required a 
person of energy and experience, may be under- 
stood when I mention that something like three 
hundred horses were usually required to supply 
the demand : they were employed on the stages 
between the Glen and Gorham, in ascending the 



THE WHITE HILLS. 95 

mountain, both by carriage and under the saddle, 
and for the private use of the guests. A finer lot 
of animals is seldom seen ; and, if I have digressed 
a little, it is because my thoughts are taking me 
back so vividly to that afternoon stage-ride. Six 
coal-black horses, as smooth and sleek as can be 
found in any city stable or making the tour of 
Chestnut Hill, composed our team. 

A dozen outside passengers, and a happy party 
we were. Being a steady ascent for ten miles, our 
ride was not a rapid one : still the changes of the 
scenery, the bracing air, and the constant expecta- 
tion of something new to wonder at, made the time 
pass rapidly and pleasantly ; and so we rattled on, 
until, all too soon, the journey was at an end, and 
our proud steeds stood impatiently pawing the 
ground, as we descended in front of the broad 
piazza of the "Glen." 

As I look vacantly about me, collecting my 
thoughts for the next passage, my eyes rest upon 
the centre-table in our library, where I am writ- 
ing : there are seven books in the rack, display- 
ing the different literary tastes of the family ; but, 
as I remember my feelings at that time, the book 
to which I should turn to describe my emotions 
is not among them, — no, nor is it in my library ; 
yet such an one there is somewhere about the 



96 FLY-FISHING IX MAINE LAKES. 

house ; my impression is, that it will be found in 
the kitchen-table drawer, sandwiched between sun- 
dry napkins, newspapers, flatiron-holders, and per- 
haps a few stray love-letters to Bridget. Oh ! you 
can guess now, can you ? you are right, it's the 
cook-book. And though I am fully aware, dear 
reader, that you would have gone without your 
supper to have gazed upon those grand and lofty 
peaks as they faded in the decline of day, yet the 
truth shall be spoken if we forfeit your regard : we 
left them, and sought the dining-room. We were 
hungry : we knew the mountains would keep, but 
the supper — well, there were doubts about that. 

We did not have Harvard or Yale students to 
wait at table in those days, but we needed no 
college lore to teach us our method of procedure : 
in the language of Uncle John Merrill of Andover, 
we " took hold," and did full justice to our hosts 
and our appetites. 

And after supper, how pleasant it was, — having 
lighted my cigar, and taken my chair to a lone cor- 
ner of the piazza, and with only one beside me, but 
that one's every pulse beating in unison with mine, 
— to gaze up, far upward upon the shadowy peak of 
Washington, to see the sunlight fade away, the twi- 
light come, and one by one, the stars appear ! One 
does not feel like talking much under such infill 



THE WHITE HILLS. 97 

ences. I am inclined to think that I just sat and 
smoked, and listened to the stillness about me ; 
and that my companion of these glories was alike 
silent and thoughtful. 

If I could only write how self-satisfied I feel at 
such times, — at peace with all the world, and for- 
getful of all its rough, hard edges ! but it is no use 
attempting it : you have appreciated the feeling, of 
course you have ; if not, you would have laid aside 
this book long before you came to this ; for, if you 
are not such a lover of nature, you can never have 
journeyed with us thus far. 

Then the darkness came, — a darkness that you 
could almost feel, very different from that of the 
half-lighted city or the unlighted village ; a dreamy 
darkness, not so unlike but what we knew that it 
meant, to tired mortals, bed-time. We took the 
hint, and retired, hoping the clouds would dispel, 
the morrow be fair, and our ascent of the mountain 
a favorable one ; and it was. 

All mountain parties are merry ones ; and it does 
not take long for the front seat to get acquainted 
with the rear, or all to become on free-and-easy 
terms with the driver. True, the romance is some- 
what taken away, as we go up by carriage-road 
instead of the old bridle-path ; but there's lots of 
fun left, nevertheless. The chances are, you will 



98 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

have among your number a talkative man, a fright- 
ened woman, and several gushing misses : we did, — 
had them all, and managed to extract fun from 
each. 

It is perfectly astonishing ho^ familiar one gets 
to be on a short acquaintance, and the largest lib- 
erties are allowed on these occasions. It is not 
rapid locomotion, this ascent of mountains, even 
if in this day of improvements you do, if you are so 
inclined, travel by rail ; and we had ample oppor- 
tunity to study character on our way up. I do not 
propose to attempt a 'description of the beauties 
of the scenery that greeted our sight as different 
turns in our upward march constantly brought new 
scenes before us. 

" Isn't it just charming? " " Don't you think we 
are going too near the edge, driver? " " Oh ! how 
lovely ! " such were the exclamations, varied some- 
what, from time to time, by a comparison from the 
talkative man who had travelled abroad, and who 
apparently knew more about foreign countries than 
he did about his own. 

And now the call for shawls and overcoats tells 
us that we are reaching the end of our upward 
journey; and the black and scurrying clouds, 
which are close above our heads, bid fair to give 
us a little wetting before we reach the summit. 



THE WHITE HILLS. 99 

But no, only a few flakes of snow, just enough to 
remind us of winter, and the clouds pass on, and it 
is sunshine again, and we are at the top of the 
mountain. 

Such a chattering of teeth, and such a rush for 
the stove, by the ladies ! such drawing of pistols 
(pocket ones) by the gentlemen ! " It's so ab- 
sur-ur-ur-d," said one young miss, " to be shiver- 
ing in July : I suppose down below they're fan-an- 
anning themselves." 

But it did not take long to warm up ; and, hun- 
ger succeeding to cold, dinner was the next thing 
in order. Whoever, among my readers, has dined 
at the "Tip-Top," will agree with me, that, al- 
though in one sense the meals are of a high order, 
and the price demanded in the same category, yet 
there is a wonderful chance for improvement in the 
cuisine. 

Perhaps the worthy proprietor may have thought, 
that, the mind being well fed, the body could get 
along for one day on cold victuals and bad coffee ; 
but that is poor logic, particularly when you are 
charged for a good dinner. I am told that it is 
better now, and hope I am told the truth. 

" Hold on to the iron rods, or you will be blown 
away, my dear ! Yonder pile of rocks is Lizzie 
Bourne's monument : you shall go to it, and add 
your stone, when the wind lulls." 



ioo FLY-FISHIXG IN MAINE LAKES. 

Our view is better than the average ; and after 
gazing with rapture and awe upon the many peaks 
beneath us, and the winding streams which are 
flowing onward to the distant ocean, upon the 
boundless forests stretching far away into the dis- 
tance, the little villages scattered here and there, 
with their white cottages, and church-spires pointing 
heavenward, we prepare for our descent. 

"Words fail to convey the satisfaction felt by every 
one ; and even the ladies are silent amid so much 
grandeur and glory. But they soon find their 
tongues as our sure-footed horses break into a trot, 
and our carriage rattles over the well-built road. 
The brakes are strong, and the driver knows his 
business ; and, unheeding the " Oh, dears ! " we 
rapidly journey downward ; and, in less than half 
the time that the ascent required, we are at the 
door of the " Glen," where an excited crowd are 
waiting to receive us. Then our experiences are 
told to those who go up to-morrow, and ever}' one 
is happy. A short time after our arrival, the rain, 
which had threatened us going up. began to fall; 
and the fair ones sought the shelter of the house, 
or needed rest in their rooms. 

As there were several hours of daylight yet, and 
my rubber coat being handy, I could not resist the 
inclination to try a few casts in the stream which 



THE WHITE HILLS. IOI 

flows by the house ; so, jointing my lightest rod, and 
selecting my smallest flies, I was soon in readiness 
for business. 

" Follow the stream down to the mill-pond, and 
fish that," said Charlie Thompson, as I started out : 
" you will find larger trout, and you may meet Mr. 
Arthur and his friend ; they went out a little while 
ago." So, without stopping to inquire who Mr. 
Arthur might be, I directed my steps to the stream, 
and " followed it to the mill-pond " some half a 
mile below, now and then stopping for a cast, and 
being rewarded by the capture of several youngsters 
of about a finger's length, but losing more than I 
was taking, owing to my flies being too large. 

Reaching the pond, I had rather better luck, and 
took out several of nearly a quarter of a pound ; but 
this was tame fishing after the glorious rises and 
magnificent play of the older members of the fami- 
ly with which I had been regaled. As the rain 
increased, I reeled up, and started for home by the 
road. Half way to the house I met two young 
gentlemen in Scotch suits, their rods over their 
shoulders, apparently oblivious % of the rain which 
was then coming down in torrents. Naturally sup- 
posing this might be " Mr. Arthur and friend," I 
saluted them, and put the usual question, " Well, 
boys, what luck?" 



102 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

"We have just started out," was the answer. 
" What have you done? " 

By way of reply, I put my hand into my coat- 
pocket, and brought out a handful of small fry ; re- 
marking that I might have had many more, but that 
I had been fishing for larger game, and found my 
flies were too large to do good service. 

This brought a very kind offer on their part to 
furnish me with a supply of a suitable size : telling 
them I should probably have no further use for 
them, thanking them kindly for their offer, and 
pointing out the direction to the mill-pond, I wished 
them good luck, and started for the house, which 
was then in sight. As I entered, I met Charlie T., 
who said, — 

"Well, I see you met the Prince." 

"Met who?" 

" Why, Prince Arthur : that was he and his friend 
Col. Elphinstone, that you were talking with just 
now ; that's who I meant by Mr. Arthur and friend. 
Didn't you know they were here? " 

•■No. I did not." 

And so I had been keeping a scion of royalty 
standing in the rain to hear me expatiate on two- 
pound trout ! Well, for once the plebeian had the 
advantage, for my skin was dry, and his must have 
been a tritle wet ; but I imagine it did him little 



THE WHITE HILLS. 



103 



harm, for does he not come from a reigning family ? 
We had our little brooklets cooked for supper \ and, 
after a pleasant chat over the incidents of the day, 
retired at an early hour to dream perchance of the 
glories of these everlasting hills. 








CHAPTER IX. 

CRYSTAL AND GLEN ELLIS FALLS. 

RS. THOMPSON says we must 
stay over one day more, and she 
will take us to Glen Ellis and the 
Crystal Cascade. She says we 
shall have the finest turnout in the 
stables : now won't you stay to-morrow, dear? You 
know this is my first visit ; and, besides, I haven't 
seen the Prince, either, and " — 

"Oh, good-night! do go to sleep, I'm so 
sleepy ! " 

" Well, that's a good boy ; won't you ? " 
"Oh, yes! a week, a month — any time, any 
thing, so you let me go to sleep. ( rood-night ! " 

And so in the morning, the first thing I heard 
was, "Vim are real kind to stay another day." 
" Who's going to stay another day ? " 
104 



CRYSTAL AND GLEN ELLIS FALLS. 105 

" We are : you know you said so last night." 

Then it flashed upon me, a faint recollection 
that I had said something of the kind ; and, before 
I could fully recall the conversation, it was all set- 
tled on the part of my better half, and the plans 
for the day fully arranged, — all I had to do was to 
submit gracefully. I had long since learned to re- 
treat in good order, and I flatter myself that I can 
move off the field with as much dignity as though 
I had won the battle. 

Meeting Prince Arthur in the reading-room after 
breakfast, we renewed our fishing chat; and he 
again offered his flies so politely that I accepted a 
few, one of which I keep in my fly-book as a 
reminder of our pleasant meeting, and as a souve- 
nir of his visit. 

It was the unanimous decision of both gentle- 
men and ladies, that he couldn't have been any 
more of a gentleman if he hadn't been a prince ; 
for a more modest, well-informed, and agreeable 
young man (he was then about twenty) , one seldom 
meets. 

During the forenoon we fished the stream in the 
vicinity of the house, and caught some twenty or 
thirty little shavers ; but none of any great size, the 
river being so constantly whipped by the guests of 
the house, that the trout have but poor show for 
attaining any growth. 



106 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

After dinner our four coal-black horses were 
driven to the door, and as the guests of Mrs. 
Thompson we started for Glen Ellis and the Cas- 
cade. A beautiful drive, and then a charming 
walk through the woods, brought us to the former. 
Long and lovingly did we watch the dashing waters, 
as they leaped from rock to rock in their rapid de 
scent. The Glen Ellis is not an abrupt fall, but 
rather a succession of rapids, whose foaming waters 
seemingly gather strength as they press onward for 
their final plunge into a pool of crystal clearness. 

We viewed them from their commencement ; then 
we descended by staircases to the rocky bank, where 
I left the ladies, and, climbing over the huge masses 
of rock, followed the cataract in its descent till the 
rushing torrent had again become a peaceful river, 
and was murmuring onward, onward, to the sea, so 
far away. 

Then I bathed my forehead in its cooling stream, 
and drank of its liquid clearness ; and as I looked 
back to where in its mad career it seemed to be 
impatient to reach its goal, and was beating itself 
against its mighty barriers, I thought : Yes, it is 
just so with humanity ; we rush forward in the 
Struggle for supremacy, we beat against impassable 
barriers, now catching our breath for a fresh start, 
now borne unwaid by the passing wave of popular 



CRYSTAL AND GLEN ELLL5 FALLS. 107 

applause, again, like yonder silent eddy, turning in 
at the wayside to get a little rest before we leap into 
the unknown beyond. 

" Mister, your coat-tails are getting wet ! " This 
salutation from a barefooted urchin below me — who 
with a sapling as youthful as himself was flinging 
his line across the stream — aroused me from my 
meditations, and caused me to take a more literal 
look at things present. Wringing the moisture 
from my garment, I retraced my steps to the less 
hazardous position where I had left our party, and 
who were patiently awaiting my return. 

Retracing our steps, we were soon again seated 
in our mountain wagon, and bowling along at a 
rapid pace for the Crystal Cascade. Here a much 
longer walk, but for which we were well repaid, 
awaited us ; and following the well-trodden path, 
with an occasional rest on a wayside seat, we were 
soon within sound and sight of this beautiful fall. 

What a contrast ! here no rude, rushing, rioting 
waters plunge seemingly on to their own destruc- 
tion ; but gently as the April shower falls upon the 
thirsting earth the sparkling waters pause upon the 
precipice's brink, break into a thousand crystals, 
and, as if fearing to disturb the calmer depths 
below, toy with each other in their slow descent, 
reflecting rainbow glories as they pursue the pris- 
matic gems that have preceded them. 



108 FLY-FISHING 'IN MAINE LAKES. 

" Oh ! how restful, how soothing ! " came from 
the lips of the one I had been closely watching, as 
she turned from the silvery sheen, and looked intc 
my eyes. " Could any thing be more beautiful?" 
The dancing, happy streamlet waited not my an- 
swer, but sang its song of welcome, and dashed its 
foamy fleckness at our tired feet, bringing sweet 
repose and an upward thought to Him who at crea- 
tion's birth formed these glories, and gave us the 
sensibilities to appreciate and reverence them as 
the work of his hands. And so we gazed in silence, 

" Knowing that Nature never did betray 
The heart that loved her," — 

until the shadows of evening fell upon our pathway, 
and reminded us that we were far from home. 
Gathering a few mosses from the river's bank, we 
bid good-by to the laughing waters ; and, with 
hearts brimful of thankfulness for the enjoyment 
which we had received, we sauntered back to the 
roadside where our impatient horses were pawing 
the ground, eager for our coming. 

Our homeward drive was joyous and happy ; and 
to the question, as we alighted upon the piazza, of 
" Now, sir, aren't you glad you staid another day? " 
I could only reply, as I looked into those gleaming 
eyes, " Yes, very." 



CRYSTAL AND GLEN ELLIS FALLS. 109 

It is wonderful how naturally one takes to their 
food, and what a relish it has, on these vacation 
trips. I remember how many times I have come 
back to the table, after finishing my hasty meal, to 
find Charlie passing the madam another bit of cold 
chicken, and the madam reciprocating with a deli- 
cate slice of cold beef; then I would indulge in 
another smoke, and come again to find them gossip- 
ing over the third cup of tea : stanch tea-drinkers 
they, — would have concealed a little in their stock- 
ings, had they lived in the rebellious times of our 
forefathers. But, Charlie having left us, I was 
obliged on this occasion to remain, and do the 
honors at the supper-table long after my own 
slight (?) appetite was appeased. "How can 
you?" said I, as one choice morsel after another 
disappeared. 

" How can you, after witnessing such beautiful 
creations of nature, descend to the common vulgar 
habit of eating?" 

" How can I ? Should not the mind and the 
body maintain a just equipoise? (Another trout, 
please.) If the soul is filled to overflowing with 
the grandest scenes of nature, should not (the dry 
toast, thank you,) the body be strengthened to 
sustain the weight of so much mental excite- 
ment? What time do we breakfast?" 



no FLY-FISHIXG IN MAINE LAKES. 

My answer was anticipated by our watchful 
waiter ; and I fancied I noticed the faintest sus- 
picion of a smile lurking about the corners of his 
ruby lips, as he removed our chairs. I would not 
say positively ; but I think, as we left the supper- 
room, I saw that smile expand into a grin, as with 
one hand in his pocket, and the fingers of the 
other wandering abstractedly through his curly 
wool, he surveyed the vast array of empty dishes 
spread before him. 

Had his thought found utterance, we should 
probably have heard a remark something like this : 
" It's nuthin' to me, but it does beat de debble ; 
dar's suthin' 'bout dese ar mountins, dat gibs um 
all a big appetite, dat's shore." 

To the piazza again, to our favorite corner ; and 
as the blue vapors from my fragrant bowl float 
upward in miniature resemblance to those which 
are settling down upon yonder vales, as twilight 
fades and night comes on apace, we fall into rev- 
ery : silence becomes the rule, speech the excep- 
tion. 

But I do remember one slight diversion. We 
were both gazing intently at a few fleecy flecks of 
clouds that were chasing each other in seeming 
playfulness across the pathway of the moon, then 
at its silvery roundness ; when, turning her face 



CRYSTAL AND GLEN ELLIS FALLS, in 

from that of Cynthia to mine, the madam pro- 
pounded the following question : — 

" Why are we like the moon ? " 

Instantly my mind went travelling into the past, 
seeking to recall a passage from some favorite poet 
that should answer the question. But in vain : I 
could find plenty of quotations ; but all were too 
sickly sentimental, too " moony," for our time of 
life, and at last I gave up in despair. 

Turning towards me with a most self-satisfying 
look, though breathing a contradictory sigh, — 

"We are like the moon, my dear," said she, 
"because we are full." ' 

Whenever in simple truthfulness I have related 
this little occurrence to a circle of listening friends, 
it has always, by the madam, been emphatically 
denied; and the last time, to prove the whole 
story an invention of my brain, she triumphantly 
produced an almanac of that year, and showed to 
the listeners that on the evening in question there 
was no moon, at least within range of our vision. 

To say that I was dumbfounded, would convey 
but a slight idea of my feelings. With the remem- 
brance of Luna's silvery brightness as she shone 
upon us that summer evening, and the sparkle of the 
madam's eyes, as the practical answer to her own 
query came from her lips, and to gaze into them as 



112 FLY-FISHING IN MA INF LAKES. 

she pointed with stubborn finger to the fata] page, 
— could I but blush, and stand amazed? 

Was it really a delightful fiction of my own, told 
so often that I had come to believe it? I have 
heard of such cases. In the language of the press, 
" that powerful engine," — et cetera, et cetera, — the 
tide of popular feeling was turning toward her, and 
so rapidly that in the face of the proof I was power- 
less ; when, in turning the pages of the yearly chron- 
icler, I made a discover}'. The artless ( ?) one had 
privately pasted the covers of an almanac of that 
year upon the fresher pages of the present one ; 
thus seeking, by one bold stroke of generalship, to 
banish once and forever all further aHusion to the 
subject. 

One cannot sit on the piazza all night, any more 
than one can eat all day. The last pipe must be 
smoked, and the last look taken ; and so, as I 
knocked the ashes from my bowl, we took one 
good-night look at the grand old hills, and sought 
the rest that was needed after the sight-seeing of 
the day. 

" Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep," — 
" Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care," — 

unknits rheumatic stitches, and the tangled meshes 
of an active brain ; that many a consrience-stricken 



CRYSTAL AND GLEN ELLIS FALLS. 113 

soul would fain enjoy, but cannot ; that the beggar 
finds with the closing of his eyes, while all the 
courting of a kingly crown 

" Can't woo her to his bed." 

Sleep, that near sister to the silent grave, soon 
spread her mantle over us, and brought sweet 
dreams. I am not so sure about the dreams — I 
had forgotten the supper ; but, at all events, we 
slept, I am sure of that, or we shouldn't have woke 
in the morning, which we assuredly did, — woke to 
the realizing sense that we were to take an early 
start, and that, if we wished to take any thing else, 
we must be up and about it. As it was, we were a 
little late, and the tangles came out of that back 
hair in a hurry : the idea of losing our breakfast — 
"oh! monstrous thought " — made nimble fingers 
active fly. 

Good-by to you, ye cloud-capped peaks ; good- 
by to you, ye lesser hills, your tops new glistening 
in the morning sun ; good-by, foaming cataract 
and purling streams ; good-by, sweet fields, that, 

" Beyond the swelling flood, 
Stand decked in living green." 

Farewell ! but we shall meet again. Summer's 
green shall change to autumn tints \ winter shall 



ii4 



FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



wrap with whitest covering, and chain with icy fet- 
ters ; but a budding spring and another summer 
shall unveil your beauties, unloose your bonds, and 
bring the wanderers back once more to behold 
your glories. 

" Driver, we're ready : drive on." 




CHAPTER X. 




GRAND LAKE. 

O I suppose," said the madam, one 
bright January day, as I entered the 
library, with my favorite bamboo rod 
in my hand ; " that Mr. McAtee's 
coming to see you has aroused your 
enthusiasm, has it?" 

" Well, partly tha,t, and partly Edward Seymour's 
paper on 'Trout-Fishing in the Rangeley Lakes,' in 
the February 'Scribner.' The fact is, last year's 
strain on this old friend was a little too much for 
its strength ; and it has got to visit the maker, and 
be overhauled." 

As I drew from the case its several joints, and 
gazed upon them with the air of satisfaction and 
pleasure which a sportsman feels when handling 
some tried and trusty companion of his joys, was 
it at all a wonder that the good times associated 

"5 



116 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

with this silent though lifelike friend should come 
thronging through my memory, and awake once 
more the slumbering past? 

ithful friend ! what wonder that these slender 
joints should weaken with your last season's work, 
— fifty land-locked salmon, with their twenty times 
fifty runs and leaps, captured with thy aid, in a 
single day ! Is it not asking and expecting quite 
too much from eight and a half ounces of split 
bamboo ? 

" And did it accomplish such a feat ? " I hear you 
ask. 

It did ; and the memory of that day's sport, with 
many others akin to it, has tempted me once more 
to take up the pen, and, by the warm fireside, look 
through the frosts and snows of January back to 
the sunshine and showers of June. 

The locality of which I am about to write is no 
new sportsman's elysium. The shores of " Grand 
Lake Stream " had been trod, and its surface 
paddled over, by the anient fisher and his Indian 
guide, long before the writer stumbled over his 
A B C's ; and, if ever a shadow of discontent 
flitted before me as I have cast my flies upon its 
rushing waters, it was that I could not have visited 
its sylvan shores before the hand of civilization had 
shorn its surroundings of many of its beauties. 



GRAND LAKE. 117 

There is — and in our day and generation there 
will be at least — good fishing and hunting far 
away from the haunts of men ; but little can be 
found, even at this day, near enough to the man of 
business, combining every thing in its surroundings 
and its sport to make glad the heart of the true 
angler. 

I think, had I not been lured from the salmon 
trout of the Rangeleys, by stories of the leaps of 
the land-locked salmon of Grand Lake Stream, the 
steamboat's puffing now heard breaking the stillness 
of those charming waters would have finished me. 
And yet I have been to Grand Lake for the past 
four years, and actually have swallowed two steam- 
boats and — on horror's head horrors accumulate — 
one tannery every year. 

I reason like this : had the steamboats followed 
me, as much as the fishing delights and charms, I 
should probably have " folded my tent," as many a 
disheartened sportsman has done before me, " and 
quietly stole away; " but, expecting them and their 
accompaniments, I tolerate them, as many others 
are willing and obliged to, for fishing that cannot — 
I say it with due deliberation — be excelled in the 
United States. 

I do not believe there is a true sportsman but 
that enjoys the companionship of nature nearly, if 



ilS FLY-FISHIXG IN MAINE LAKES. 

not quite, as much asthe fishing itself. One with- 
out the other would not be sufficient ; and for 
myself, though I love fly-fishing next to my wife 
and children, I am free to say that I would better 
enjoy a vacation, with them about me, among the 
hills of New Hampshire, leaving the rod behind, 
than taking the most gamesome fish within a dozen 
miles of the Hub. 

You that have had the sweet experience of the 
angler's haunts need not be told how much the 
solitary dip of the paddle, the unbroken lines of 
forest-trees, their clear-cut shadows in the placid 
lake, and the cry of the startled loon, add zest to 
your enjoyment. And now, if you will excuse me 
for. so much apparent digression, induced, I fear, 
somewhat to apologize for my acquaintance with 
the before-mentioned steamboats, I will tell those 
of you who do not know, as well as those who do, 
the whereabouts of these famous fishing-grounds, 
and how you may go there and enjoy only a bowing 
acquaintance with Robert Fulton's addition to our 
civilization. 

The St. Croix River forms a part of the boundary- 
line between the State of Maine and the Province 
of New Brunswick. It has two branches, each 
rising in a chain of lakes called The Schoodu s. 
though now more familiarly known as the Eastern 



GRAND LAKE. 119 

and Western Grand Lakes, — the largest lake in 
each chain being called Grand Lake. Johnson, 
however, on his map, gives the name of the larger 
Eastern lake as The Schoodic, or Grand Lake. In 
the waters of all these lakes, and the beautiful 
streams connecting them, are found, in goodly 
numbers, that mettlesome and much-discussed fish, 
— the land-locked salmon. 

The eastern chain are reached by the North- 
American and European Railroad, from Bangor^ 
which crosses the river at a small station called 
St. Croix, where, I understand, outfits and guides 
can be procured. 

It is, however, with the western chain that I 
propose to acquaint you by the aid of my map, 
designed and executed by that experienced guide, 
scholar, — though his studies have been from 
Nature, not books, ■ — and sportsman, Tomah 
Joseph, added to my own information, picked up 
in five seasons of sporting on its waters. 

The most northerly of the chain is Duck Lake, 
about twenty miles from Winn, Me., — a station on 
the railroad before mentioned. Near the shore of 
this lake resides Mr. Albert Gowell, a sturdy 
farmer, and the fisherman's friend, who by ap- 
pointment will meet you at Winn, and take you 
to the lake ; or Mr. Gates, the proprietor of the 



120 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

village hotel, — an obliging and agreeable gentle- 
nan, — will perform for you the same service. 

Just overlooking this charming sheet of water, a 
camp has been recently built, owned, and occupied 
in the season, by the Messrs. Barber, Davis, and 
others, of Boston and vicinity, where a sportsman's 
welcome is always given when the occupants are 
"at home." 

Duck Lake — about a mile and a half in length 

— connects with Junior Lake, six miles in length, 
by Duck Lake Stream ; at the left of Junior lie 
Scragby and Pleasant Lakes, both beautiful sheets 
of water. On the right of Junior, and approached 
through Junior Stream and Compass Thoroughfare, 
lie Compass Lake and the two Sisladobsis, known 
more familiarly as the Dobseys, where the well- 
known " Dobsey Camp " is situated. 

Passing through Junior Stream, about two and a 
half miles in length, we enter Grand Lake, a beauti- 
ful sheet of water, twelve miles long ; again, Grand 
Lake Stream, three miles in length, connects with 
Big Lake, Long Lake, and Louis Lake, where rises 
the West Branch of the St. Croix, and where is situ- 
ated the village of Princeton, Me. 

Here one can take the railroad — twenty miles 

— to Calais, steamer to Eastport, and the Inter- 
national Line of Steamers to Boston, making, in 



GRAND LAKE. 



121 



good weather, a very pleasant way of returning ; 
or, at Calais, you may take the all-rail route through 
Bangor to Boston, — time, twenty-four hours. 

Now, you have been there and back, in your 
imagination ; if you are willing to follow me still 
farther, or rather over the same ground, or water, 
as you may prefer, at a somewhat slower pace, I 
will tell you how I once went, with whom, and, by 
"an honest count," the net result of our trip. 




CHAPTER XI. 




HOW NOT TO GO. 

OUGHLY blew the wind, the rain 
poured in torrents, " the waves 
rolled mountains high," and the 
madam lay in her state-room, oh ! 
so sick. 

" Shall I bring you a cup of tea ? " 
"Oh, no, no !" 
"Or a lemon, or" — 

" Xo, nothing, nothing. Oh ! who would have 
thought yesterday that we should be tossed about 
in this way? " 

And indeed who would ? It was the eighteenth 
of June, eighteen hundred and seventy-five, the day 
after the grand r.unker-hill centennial celebration; 
and we had driven to the International steamer, 
through streets hung with banners wet and droop- 
ing that but yesterday waved in the bright sunlight 



HOW NOT TO GO. 123 

as thousands of the flower of the volunteer militia 
of the United States passed under them. 

I had been in the saddle ten hours on that event- 
ful day, spent the evening in packing camp luggage 
for our annual fishing-trip to Grand Lake, and 
retired thinking that our pleasant sail on the mor- 
row would give us ample opportunity for much- 
needed rest and recuperation. 

But, alas ! the highly old and respectable firm of 
Pluvius and Boreas put their heads together ; and 
the latter so stirred up the former, that rest and 
comfort to us poor landsmen was one of the lost 
arts. 

We were pitching along through a heavy sea, a 
stiff easterly gale blowing, the rocky coast outline 
being scarcely perceptible through the mist and 
rain. 

I had been gazing out of the stateroom-window 
at the any thing but inviting prospect, occasionally 
administering a few crumbs of comfort to the limp 
specimen of womanly beauty and equal rights who 
lay so quietly in her narrow berth ; when at her 
feeble request to consult the officers of the boat as 
to whether there might be or was a presumptive, 
presumable, plausible probability of the storm let- 
ting up a little, — " For," said she, " if I've got to — 
stand — this — all — the way — to — Eastport — I " 



124 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

— and then she quite gave out, — I opened the 
stateroom-door, and with a graceful skip and a 
bound landed under the saloon-table in search of 
the captain. 

He was not there, however ; and so I picked up 
a modest little pin, and stuck it into the lappel of 
my coat, and came up smiling. One old chap, who 
stood as firm as though he was planted, smiled too, 
a sarcastic smile as though he doubted that I was 
really after that pin : it irritated me, and I felt dis- 
posed to be pugilistic ; but my better feelings tri- 
umphed, and I rushed into his arms, and embraced 
him like a long-lost brother. 

By means of forced marches, sudden halts, and 
an occasional "double-quick," I succeeded in 
reaching the forward deck, where I found less rain, 
but more wind and sea. Here I also found one 
solitary son of the sea, pacing up and down, seem- 
ingly very comfortable in his oil jacket and sou'- 
wester. He cast his eyes in such a knowing man- 
ner at the clouds and round the various quarters 
of the globe, that, although I felt convinced that he 
was not the captain, I was sure he was my weather 
chronicler. Having secured a place in his track, 
and found something to lean against, I waited till 
he bore down upon me, then hailed him. 

"What do you think of the weather, sir?" 



HOW NOT TO GO. 125 

"Thick." 

"Thick?" 

" And nasty." 

This was certainly a very decided and correct 
answer to my question ; but wasn't exactly what I 
was after, having come to the same conclusion my- 
self, though I don't think that I could have worded 
it quite so expressively. 

Waiting till he bore down again, I sent him 
another hail : — 

"Do you think she'll clear up, sir?" 

Somehow I had the idea that " she " sounded a 
little more sailor-like ; but when he stopped short, 
and looked at me, I wished I hadn't : he read me. 

First he took off his sou'wester, shook the rain off 
it, put it on, then hitched up his trousers, shifted 
his quid, looked at me again, down at the water, 
up at the clouds, then nowhere in particular but 
everywhere in general, and finalty delivered himself 
of this opinion : — 

" Why, you see, sir, it's liable to be a nasty night, 
sir : the wind's piping it strong from the east'ard ; 
blowed so all last night, and them 'ere low clouds 
'long there looks ugly. If it works round a little 
more to the nor'ard and east'ard, sir, I reckon 'fore 
we gets into Frenchman's Bay cups and sarcers 
will rattle sum." 



126 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE IAKES. 

With this comforting intelligence, I returned, by a 
circuitous route, to " Stateroom B," and proceeded 
to deliver my information to the afflicted one, in 
truly nautical style ; embellishing it, however, suf- 
ficiently to have it appear to my own mind, that it 
would be " extra hazardous " for us to continue on 
the boat farther than Portland, which city happily 
we were now approaching. 

Wishing to be left alone to try and sleep, I left 
the feeble one, and returned again to the deck, to 
cultivate the more intimate acquaintance of my 
" nor' east by nor' " friend. 

I found he had been joined by another " salt." 
who was pointing to a low ridge of rocky coast, 
which we were passing within easy hailing-distance. 
Seeing they were both somewhat excited, I man- 
aged to get near enough to overhear their conver- 
sation. 

" Now Bill, 'spose 'tis : do you really b'lieve 'tis 
buried there? " 

"B'lieve it! thar's no sort'er doubt on't. I've 
seen the cap'n p'int it out ter passengers time and 
time ag'in ; and I heard him tell somebody one 
night when I was on watch, that he'd had a man 
digging there for a month; the chap he told it to, 
asked him if he commenced to dig on the full of 
the moon ; and Cap. said he didn't know 'bout that ; 



HOW NOT TO GO. 127 

and the man told him that 'twas no use, unless he 
did : he was sure not to find it." 

"The captain ought to knowed that," responded 
the new-comer. 

" Knowed it, of course he had ! everybody 
knows Cap'n Kidd al'ers buried his money on the 
full 'er the moon. Cap'n ought'er know better." 

" Ain't you goin' to try your luck some time? " 

"Ain't I? Ain't I savin' all my wages, just for 
that? there ain't no sorter doubt, there's a million 
dollars buried there, — it's sure as truth ; I'm 
watchin' for signs, and, when they come right, you 
bet I'll be there a-diggin'." 

The appearance -of the mate, with an order for 
the sailor, interrupted the conversation at this 
point ; but I had heard enough to interest me. I 
had seen another locality where the late Capt. 
Kidd had buried his treasure. When I was a boy, 
I used to visit with awe a certain spot on the back 
of Munjoy Hill, in Portland, where many a man 
had dug and dug for the supposed hidden ducats 
of this, to my now thinking, much over-estimated 
"bold privateer." ■ 

As I write these lines, I read in the papers of 
the day, that the people in the vicinity of Coffin's 
Island, near New Jersey, have gone stark-staring 
mad over a rumor, a report, a tradition, or a clair- 



128 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

voyant's vision, or a something or a somebody, who 
has discovered that this island is full of the cap- 
tain's gold. 

A company has been formed, and I read they 
intend digging up the entire island. I hope they 
may find ''millions in it," but have my doubts. 
Two hundred years is a long time ; and Capt. 
Kidd might have been a mythical character, or at 
all events, if he was not, there is not much doubt 
but what his buried treasures are a myth. If those 
Jersey men will devote themselves to planting and 
then digging sweet potatoes, and such other com- 
modities as their climate encourages, they will 
probably be both happier and richer in the end, 
than if they dug up Coffin's Island, and shovelled it 
into the Atlantic Ocean. 

Arriving in Portland we find the storm increas- 
ing ; and, as the prospect of the steamboat pro- 
ceeding farther that night seemed a faint one, we 
go to the Falmouth Hotel ; and on the morrow 
take the cars for Bangor and Forest Station, dis- 
tant about two hundred miles, where we were told 
a stage would be found to take us across the coun- 
try to Princeton, distant thirty miles. 

We arrive there at noon ; and find the station 
and the forest, for which it is so happily named, 
and nothing else. Oh ! yes, — the stage and its 
driver. 



HOW NOT TO GO. 129 

If I should ask you, my reader, to stop here for 
a moment, and describe that stage, you would prob- 
ably reply, " A Concord coach with yellow trim- 
mings, with four well-groomed horses pawing the 
ground, impatient to begin their labors." You 
wouldn't ? Oh ! you know better, do you ? You 
have seen some of these country coaches, have 
you? Then you would say, "A clumsy, well- 
muddied, two-seated wagon : said seats covered 
with buffalo-robes strongly reminding one of Tom 
Hood's poem of 'The Lost Heir,' with but two 
horses 'hitched' to it, not 'pawing,' and not at 
all impatient to start ; " and now you think you 
have got it, don't you ? 

Well, you have not, with all your wisdom. " Sea- 
son your imagination for a while," and I will de- 
scribe that conveyance, its driver, what it was 
expected to carry to Jackson Brook, and how near 
it came to fulfilling its mission. 

The stage was an ordinary one-seated wagon ; 
imprimis : the body old and rickety, the seat droop- 
ing and shaky ; the forward axle sprung, the rear 
apparently about ready to spring ; the wheels way- 
worn and weary, and oh ! so tired. The motive- 
power, one horse, a modern Rosinante; the har 
ness, from bridle to crupper, like that which cov- 
ered Petruchio's steed when he went to woo the 



130 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

fair Katherine. The driver, a veteran of some 
eighteen summers, bold and self-possessed, firm, 
but modest. There you have them. 

The passengers to be carried, — a lady resident 
of Princeton, a commercial traveller, madam, and 
myself. 

The baggage, — one medium-sized trunk, one 
small ditto, one canvas tent, one stove in canvas, 
one box, one case of fishing-rods, several hand- 
bags, and one package of samples. 

Trie commercial traveller and the samples re- 
mained at Forest Station : the balance of animate 
and inanimate freight went to Jackson Brook, and 
in this way. The seat was moved forward to the 
very front of the wagon, the baggage was all stowed 
away in the rear : the two ladies mounted the seat ; 
madam handled the ribbons, and thus we started. 

"Yes, but yourself and the driver?" 

"Oh ! we walked behind the wagon." 

The road was poor, and the load a reasonably 
heavy one for one horse ; and had it not been for 
the rear-guard, who under the most favorable cir- 
cumstances could hardly have been expected to 
trot, any thing faster than a walk was positively out 
of the question, and we walked. 

I have always held that the writer of travels 
should lean decidedly towards the truth, and saving 



. HOW NOT TO GO. J 31 

in some harmless imagination never o'erstep its 
boundares ; and truth compels me to state that 
there was nothing on this ride of three miles, in the 
way of scenery or of rural homes, to excite our 
admiration or turn our thoughts from the discom- 
forts of the situation. Truth also compels me to 
say that I beguiled my time by lying to the driver. 
It was rather a mean advantage, considering his 
age, I admit ; but I was drawn into it by a flattering 
remark from the youth, and the fact that 

" Satan finds some mischief still, 
For idle hands to do." 

The madam had very dexterously avoided a 
mud-hole on one side, and a huge stone on the 
other, which caused the lad to say, — 

" She kin drive, she kin." 

" She ought to, brought up to it, sir ; broke colts 
when she was young ; can ride any horse in the 
world, do any thing with them ; born to it." 

" Sho ! " (walking round to the side of the wagon 
to get a good look.) " Is she your woman? " 

" My wife, sir." 

"What else can she do? " 

"Shoots a little." 

"You don't say so ! " 

"On the wing entirely, sir; bags her game every 



13- FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

time, rarely misses. It would make you open your 
eyes to see her handle a rifle ; got a natural instinct 
for shooting." 

" Well, I swow ! Can she fish ? " 

" Fish ? you ought to see her : that's her best 
hold. Why, she can paddle a canoe, strike a trout, 
and net him, all at the same time." 

" I reckon some of our fellers would just like to 
see her." 

" Yes, but you should hear her sing and play the 
flute, and talk eleven different languages : then you 
would begin to think she knew something." And 
so I went on like a villain, while his jaw dropped, 
and his eyes rolled in wonder, until I began to 
"eel that the earth might open and swallow me. 

After a while even this choice amusement failed 
to amuse, and we plodded along in silence, up hill 
and down, I quieting my conscience by the thought 
that he couldn't possibly believe my Munchau- 
sen ; but I am afraid he did, for when at last the 
dismal ride and walk had come to an end, and our 
fares were to be paid, he pointed to the heroine 
of rod, rifle, and rein, and said with an air of pro- 
found veneration, — 

• 1 sha'n't take nothin' for her." ' 

Then my conscience smote me so hard that I 
insisted on full payment, and, as I bid the youth 



HO IV NOT TO GO. 1 33 

good-by, remarked that perhaps I had somewhat 
overrated my wife's sporting accomplishments ; but 
he was, I fear, too firmly fixed to be shaken. 

At Jackson Brook, a little village of probably two 
hundred inhabitants, we dined. 

The tavern was neat and comfortable. While 
we were waiting for our dinner to be prepared, we 
had ample time to rest, and make comments. 

I will describe the furnishing of the sitting-room, 
to the best of our united remembrances, as it may 
bring to the recollection of the reader some room 
similarly adorned where in bygone days he or she 
may have passed a pleasant hour. 

A rag- carpet ; two round braided mats ; a melo- 
deon, on which lay several well-worn sacred tune- 
books ; a high-backed, wooden-seated rocking- 
chair; several straight-backed wooden chairs 
painted in black, with yellow ornamentation; a 
Franklin fireplace filled with a tasteful collection 
of green branches ; a high mantle-piece adorned 
with two plaster- of- Paris parrots, in green and yel- 
low plumage, a vase of lilacs, and one of syringas ; 
above them, looking down upon the peaceful scene, 
a highly colored print of Grant and his Generals ; 
on the table, covered with a red embossed cloth. 
a Bible, hymn-book, one or two secular volumes, 
Robert B. Thomas's Almanac, and a copy of " The 
New York Ledger." 



134 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. , 

Thus you will see a general air of neatness and 
taste pervaded the modest apartment. 

The bedrooms of these country taverns, one or 
more of which are found in every little village, are 
usually neat and tastily furnished : but the beds 
are bad, the food and cooking, to the city taste, 
abominable ; for which reason we prefer camp-life, 
our bed of boughs, and our guide's proficiency in 
the culinary art. 

A rather stronger horse and a two-seated wagon, 
with a change of horse at Topsfield, carried us the 
rest of our journey to Princeton, about twenty 
miles ; not a pleasant ride, although the day was 
fine, for we felt that we were too much of a load 
for the patient animals. • 

The only object of special interest, aside from 
being questioned by nearly every one we met, as to 
the cause of a dense smoke which filled the air, 
completely shutting out the scenery about us, and 
which we knew as little about as they, was a horse- 
man who passed us at a rapid rate, turned, came 
back, and inquired the distance to a certain house 
on our road. 

"Thai man," said our driver, as he rode away, 
14 is as Mind as a bat : he tunes pianos and melo- 
deons, and he goes round this country as you see 
him now." 



HOW NO 7" TO GO. 1 35 

Just then he turned his horse, a beautiful black 
colt, out from the road, rode up to the door of a 
cottage some little distance off, exchanged a few 
words with a couple of girls, turned, and passed 
down the road before us on a rapid canter, and was 
soon lost to our sight. 

It seemed hard to believe the evidence of our 
senses ; but, after all, it was only another illustra- 
tion of the acuteness acquired by the remaining 
senses, when one or more are lost. 

I suggested to the driver that his horse must 
know him, and be strongly attached to him. 

" Know him," he replied : " I guess he does ; that 
hoss knows he's blind just as well as I do." 

And perhaps he did. 

Thankful and happy were we when just at dusk 
we stepped from our " stage " upon the piazza of 
the hotel, and were met by our Indian guide, whose 
greeting was cordial and welcome : — 

" Here at last, Tomah." 

In my first chapter I gave you two routes by 
which you may reach Grand Lake : this is a third. 

Shun it. 



I_jfc| w ^ — ^ 





CHAPTER XII. 




TOM AH JOSEPH. 

UST a few evenings since, I read in 
my "Transcript" the following ex- 
tract, which most readers would 
have passed unnoticed ; which hav- 
<.-j>\ •'''•'• < ;- c-.^ ing perused, I leaned back in my 
I'' chair, and laughed so heartily that I 

had to explain myself, and so I read this, 
aloud : — 

"The Passamaquoddy Indians are represented at 
Augusta, Me., by their delegate Tomah Joseph, who 
presented a petition for a road from Big Pake to 
Grand Pake Stream, fifty dollars, a priest, a stove, 
a chimney, and a dance-hall." 

Shades of the departed ! whose mantle has fallen 
upon thee, Tomah, that we should thus behold thee 
in this new sphere of usefulness? 

Whence the vaulting ambition that led thee to 
i 3 C 



TOM AH JOSEPH. 137 

forsake thy happy hunting-grounds for the halls of 
legislation ? 

And now, forsooth, instead of "Joe, you Injun, 
pass the net," it must be : " Will the honorable gen- 
tleman from Peter Denis's Point assist me to land 
this salmon?" 

But one thought affords me consolation in this 
trying affliction. 

It was my boots that trod those legislative halls. 
It was my waistcoat that swelled with natural pride 
when the speaker recognized the delegate from the 
Passamaquoddy tribe. 

Tomah Joseph, the son of his father who still at 
an advanced age occasionally acts as guide, is now 
about forty years of age, is himself father of several 
embryo guides, and as 'cute an Indian as ever pad- 
dled a canoe. To enumerate his several accom- 
plishments in his particular line, would require 
more space than we can afford to give him at this 
time. In casting a fly I have never seen him ex- 
celled, scarcely equalled. In mending rods he is 
an adept. I think, after seeing him run the rapids 
on the stream, Mr. Murray would preach a sermon 
from that text. 

The flute is Joe's evening companion ; and to its 
sweet music the dusky maidens and their happy 
partners move gayly in the merry dance, or the tired 



138 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

fisherman reposing upon the bank after a day of 
pleasant toil is often soothed to rest by its softest 
notes. 

[( it should ever happen that Joe should read 
this allusion, — which he probably never will, for two 
reasons ; first because he can't read, and secondly 
being too old to learn, — he would, I fear, never for- 
give me for saying that he was a triile lazy : such, 
however, is the fact. I don't mean to say that he 
would shirk any real duty j but if he had any heavy 
job on hand he would somehow manage to make 
you see that it were best not to do it at all, or sug- 
gest some plan by which a somewhat similar result 
might be reached with less manual labor. 

It is rather amusing now, to look back and think 
how he had his way on many of our little excur- 
sions when I fondly supposed I was having my 
own. 

Willing to indulge in a little " fire-water " when 
asked, I never knew him to ask for it, or to obtain 
it elsewhere when acting as my guide. 

Quick to take a joke, good at repartee, and 
withal brighter than the average white man in 
"those parts," Tomah not only fulfilled every thing 
required of him in his position, but was always the 
best of company. 

When in deep thought he has a habit of stroking 



TOM AH JOSEPH. 1 39 

his chin with his thumb and fingers, as if feeling for 
whiskers which he never found. 

He was doing this about eight o'clock the morn- 
ing after our arrival at Princeton, as we stood on the 
little wharf at Louis Lake with quite a pile of traps 
lying about us. 

"That's a stove, you say, in that canvas, Mr. 
Stevens?" 

"Yes, that's a stove, camp-stove." 

" And that big canvas bag's got your bedding in 
it, humph?" 

"Yes." 

" Ugh ! 'Twouldn't do to get them wet, would 
it ? The birch might leak going up, and it might 
be " (scratching his head a little) " safer to " — 

"To what, Joe?" 

"I was thinking, we might send 'em up on the 
steamer." 

"What will it cost?" 

" Oh ! a quarter." 

" All right : take them over to the boat." Which 
he did not exactly do, but went over to where the 
boat lay, and returned with the captain and engi- 
neer who compose the crew ; and they transfer all 
our plunder, with the exception of my rods and a 
small satchel or two, to the deck of the steamer. 

" How's this, Tomah?" 



14° FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

" Got him to take it all for -a quarter." Now, that 
was a fair illustration of Joe's shrewdness. He 
knew that if he had proposed to send all our bag- 
gage up by boat, I should have thought him lazy, 
and the expense greater than it was, and unneces- 
sary. The upshot was, that the luggage got to the 
top of Missionary Hill, where we were to camp, 
without his handling twenty pounds of it. 

The day was fine, and we had before us twelve 
miles of canoeing. Our route lay through Louis 
Lake, Long Lake, and Big Lake. Very prettily sit- 
uated on the shore of the latter is one of the vil- 
lages of the remnant of the Passamaquoddy tribe 
of Indians, the residence of Joe, and many other 
guides of note. 

I have been a good deal of a traveller in my life, 
and have journeyed in many different conveyances, 
both by land and water, on business or pleasure. I 
hardly think you could mention one in use in our 
country in which I have not travelled more or less, 
from a canal-boat to an ocean-steamer, from a 
buckboard to a Pullman car. Once in my life I 
tried ballooning, but only for the matter of a couple 
of thousand feet with a good stout cable attached 
to the air-ship. 

I can truly say that I know no manner of "loco- 
motion more exciting and exhilarating, more restful 



TOM AH JOSEPH. 14 1 

and refreshing, as the case may be, than canoe- 
ing. 

You sit in the bow of the birch, on comfortable 
robes, with one at your back, with your face to the 
front, a trolling- line in your hand, your rifle or re- 
volver within easy reach, your pipe in your mouth, 
and you are ready for repose or excitement. 

A bend in the stream or lake unfolds new beau- 
ties to your view ; you gaze dreamily upon the far- 
away mountain-tops and the unbroken forests with 
their different shades of green. You are recalled 
to your senses by the cry of an erratic loon : you 
scan the calm surface of the lake until your eye 
seeks him out ; but the quick-sighted Indian has 
seen him before you, and a few strong sweeps of his 
paddle send us flying towards him. 

He is down, he is up again, and a bullet goes 
whizzing after him ; it misses, of course, and down 
he goes to be greeted with another when he rises : 
after an exciting chase and a few more harmless 
shots, we permit him to rest, and pursue our onward 
course. And now a strong pull from behind gives 
us a new sensation ; and with an " I've got him," we 
pull alongside a handsome salmon. The guide 
slips the net under him, and we feast our eyes upon 
this king of the waters. Oh ! this is unalloyed hap- 
piness : care comes not here. With a clear con- 



14? FLY-FISrnXG IX MAINE LAKES. 

science within, bright sunshine without, the sparkling 
waters below, and God's pure sky above, one can 
almost say with the sacred poet, — 

" There can I bathe my wear)' soul 
In seas of heavenly rest, 
And not a wave of trouble roll 
Across my peaceful breast." 

"We are now in sight of our landing, have enjoyed 
every moment of our sail. Just as we pass from 
the lake into the stream, Joe, who sees every thing, 
stops paddling, says, " Sh ! look," and pointing with 
his paddle we descry, at the top of a decaying tree 
of immense size, "the proud bird of our country." 
an American eagle. He sees us at about the same 
moment, but does not like the cut of our jib, for he 
stretches his wings, and soars away. 

We were glad to see him in repose, but his flight, 
grand and majestic, was a more sublime sight. 

•' A good omen, Joe," said I, as the canoe 
touched the bank, and we prepared to disembark. 

'• Yes, that means plenty salmon." 

Getting out of a canoe, and preserving your equi- 
librium, is no easy matter to the uninitiated ; and 
my advice to such is, don't hurry, take it coolly. 
The madam hurried once, or made a misstep, and 
when I turned to assist her she lay on her back by 



TOM AH JOSEPH. 143 

the shore of the stream, but no harm .came of it : 
two strong Indians fished her out, and I — Well, 
I'm afraid I stood on the bank, and laughed " shuste 
a leetle bit." 

The stage, this time a lumbering two-seated 
wagon wi$h two strong horses, is awaiting us ; our 
luggage, having reached here before us, is snugly 
stowed, all but one box of stores which we left on 
the steamer at Portland to follow us. Our canoe 
is firmly lashed to the side ol the wagon ; we 
mount to our seats, and rattle off at a comfortable 
pace, on our ride of three miles to our headquar- 
ters at the foot of Grand Lake. 

We decide to pitch our camp on " Missionary 
Hill." Why missionary, I don't know. 'We select 
this spot because Tomah says, " Good breeze, few 
flies." I am inclined to think that if Joe were 
engaged to cook a fortnight for a party expecting 
to encamp there, he would now say, " Bad place, 
sun hot, flies thick, mosquito he bite, midges, ugh ! " 
The fact is, Joe found it too much up-hill, and I 
think we all did. Jim Coffin's front yard is a better 
spot. 

Camp " Prouty," a name familiar to all lovers of 
the angle, as that of a gentleman well versed in the 
fisher's art, built by a gentleman from Calais, Mr. 
Sawyer, now occupies the summit of the hill, and 



144 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

with its out-buildings covers what was the best 
camping-ground j so that the white canvas of the 
fisher's tents, with floating flags, so pretty a sight to 
one coming down the lake, will in future be rarely 
seen. 

Here we are at last at our journey's end ; and 
now to getting into camp. We have two tents, one 
with a fly for sleeping, and the other our mess-tent, 
also a canvas canopy to protect our stove. 

Twelve miles of paddling in smooth water is play 
for an Indian ; but now, Joe, you have got to do a 
little work 

But Joe knows what to do first ; finds his axe, 
leans on it a few minutes, strokes his chin, scratches 
his head, looks at each point of the compass, sur- 
veys the ground, gives us a bit of advice where to 
pitch our tents, whistles, and disappears in the 
woods close at hand. 

While the driver, " Son " Ripley, unloads, we 
survey the ground, unroll the tents, and bring to 
light our new camp-stove. Soon Joe returns, drag- 
ging after him enough poles to establish a good- 
sized hop-garden, and our work commences. 

But Toman's quick eyes have discovered the 
stove, and he drops his axe, and goes down on all- 
fours to interview it ; he soon has it apart, and han- 
dles every piece, from the lifter to the oven. 



TOM AH JOSEPH. 145 

When he sees its contents, — pails, pans, legs, 
funnel, plates, knives, forks, spoons, toaster, coffee- 
pot, tea-kettle, covers, and all which were packed 
within it, now lying about covering a world of 
space, we know he is surprised, excited ; but he 
does not show it, — the same stolid Indian gaze, 
every bit of it. 

"Well, Joe, ever seen the like of that before? " 

"Never!" 

" What do you think of it? " 

" Can't cook with that ; don't believe it'll work ! " 
another stroke of the chin. " Guess I better use the 
old fireplace, and let Mrs. Stevens and you run 
that." 

" Not much, you ignorant Injun : you'll swear by 
that stove before you get through, old boy." 

" Swear at it, I reckon." 

But when as the sun went down we were enjoy- 
ing our first good meal for three long days, — fried 
salmon, fried potatoes, bacon and eggs, with a 
splendid cup of tea, and the minor accompani- 
ments, all cooked in a superior manner, by that dis- 
trusted stove, — Joe relented. 

Instead of a quarter of a cord of fuel, he had 
used but a few pieces of hemlock-bark, and as 
many sticks of wood. He surveyed the object of 
his distrust for a moment, walked about it, gazed 



146 FLY-FISHING IX MAINE LAKES. 

upward at the thin, curling smoke issuing from the 
funnel, strode to the tent where we were eating, 
with a bread-pan in one hand, and the toaster in 
the other, and thus unbosomed himself: — 

'' Mr. Stevens, I give it up : that just beats any 
thing I ever saw ; I could cook for ten men with 
that stove ; she's a ripper." 

And Joe told the truth. 

The afternoon was spent in preparing camp, and 
by the time that darkness came we were ready for 
it ; our bed in order, with the mosquito-canopy 
spread. " Good-night, Tomah : we have done a 
good afternoon's work, and you may sleep in the 
morning." 

And he did sleep : I believe he would sleep till 
the Day of Judgment if you would let him. How 
he can ever wake, rolled up in his blanket, head 
and all, to all appearances a mere bundle of woollen, 
is more than I ever expect to know : he must rise 
to explain. 





CHAPTER XIII. 

RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 

O longer sits the wind in the east. 
For three and twenty days, almost 
without intermission, had that scourge 
of our New-England spring ( ?) , the 
east wind, been blowing upon the 
Hub. 

Like colors nailed to the mast, the vanes of 
orthodox and heterodox churches alike seemed 
firmly fixed, and unalterable as the laws of the 
Medes and Persians. 

We went about through the fog, mist, and rain, 
poor " demnition moist bodies : " it penetrated our 
pores, it ached our joints, it froze our marrow, it 
made us wheeze, it made us sneeze ; and only by 
thinking of its source, and its refreshing coolness 
on a hot July afternoon, could we refrain from 
wrathful words. 

147 



148 FLY-FISHING IN VALVE LAKES. 

And now what wonder that we feel the blood 
rush tingling through our veins, as we stand on the 
brow of Missionary Hill this glorious June morning, 
and drink in the invigorating draughts of a freshly 
rising western breeze ? 

The lake feels its influence ; and at our feet its 
rippling waves dance with delight, and mingle their 
low murmur with the rustling leaves. 

Up comes the sun, dispelling the mists, driving 
the shadows far back upon the hills. 

We hail the new-born day : we rejoice in the 
glad sunlight ; -the clear atmosphere makes us light 
of heart ; we stretch out our arms to embrace dear 
old mother Nature, and we exult in our freedom. 

We shout, and the wooded hills send back their 
echoes ; we sing (the madam), and the warblers of 
the wood assist in the chorus ; we snuff the odor of 
the hemlock and the pine : and, oh ! human na- 
ture, something else. 

" Bacon." 

Bob Southey's " Jacob " would ne'er " turned up 
his nose in scornful curve at yonder pig," had he 
breakfasted on " Joseph's " bacon. 

With each foot firmly planted on its parent soil, 
Joe stands a statue ; the frying-pan upon the stove 
before him, the bacon sizzling and gurgling in its 
fatty bed. An egg in his hand is ready to be brok- 



RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 149 

en, and add its country freshness to the^ sportsman's 
morning meal. But Joseph moves not ; he has 
caught the savory smell ; his nostrils expand under 
its bewitching influence ; his chest upheaves as he 
draws in each willing breath ; his — 

"Joe, will you turn that bacon? " 

The statue moves, and the egg falls to the ground 
lost to us forever. 

Excuse me, gentle reader, for dwelling upon this 
subject ; but health and happiness depend so much 
upon a good appetite and proper food, that, should 
you decide to test the enjoyment of camp-life, do 
not neglect to provision yourself before starting. 

Salt pork and Indian meal are indispensable : 
bacon is a luxury. Calculate, to a nicety, just what 
you think your party will need of each : multiply 
the quantity by two, and then double the amount 
of bacon. 

" You don't like bacon ? " 

Why, man alive ! your education is incomplete : 
improve it. If you must go down to your grave 
unhonored and unsung, pray do not go unbacon- 
ized. 

On a par with bacon, and not to be overlooked 
or forgotten, are Bermuda onions. 

Oh ! reader, turn not up in scorn thy sensitive 
nose ; confess to me now, that you do sometimes 



150 FLY-FISH I XG IN MAINE LARES* 

eat them at your own table. I am sure I do, but 
not with beefsteak : either in themselves, but not 
united. 

In camp, slice them raw, cover with vinegar, and 
add a little pepper and salt ; they are better than 
all the fancy pickles that ever Crosse & Blackwell 
stamped with their signature : and those, you know 
are good. 

One day, a friend of ours from the city, an old 
Umbagog fisherman, dropped in upon us, and right 
glad were we to greet him. He had secured board 
and lodging at one of the few villagers near our 
camp. 

In the afternoon of the first day, a little girl from 
the house called upon us, with the request, — 

" Would you sell my mother some onions? " 

" No, my child, but we will give your mother a 
few : " and she thanked us with maiden simplicity, 
and departed. 

As the shadows of evening fell, our friend came 
to us to talk over the result of his first day's sport, 
to say " Good-by, Umbagog," and to tell us how 
his lines had fallen in pleasant places, what a cap- 
ital house he was staying at, how well he fared. 

" Yes, boys ! the living is just splendid ; for sup- 
per we had fried salmon, boiled salmon, fried pota- 
toes, baked potatoes, good bread, and — would you 



RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 151 

believe it, way down here, in these woods, what do 
you think? — sliced Bermuda onions." 

The mistress of that modest mansion knew a 
fisherman's tastes. Take all you require, my friend, 
and a' few to give away. Injun, he like 'em, too. 

You would not forget your coffee, — Mocha and 
Java equally mixed, I hope suits your taste ; it does 
mine : but you might not think of condensed milk. 

" What ! go to the country, and use condensed 
milk ! " 

Yes, for your coffee ; try it at home or abroad, 
and you will find that it's much better than milk, 
and better than city cream ; and, besides, you can't 
often get milk when in camp. 

" Now, Joe, be careful that you keep that can 
covered ; for though we might not object, at times, 
to our lemonade with a stick in it, we don't want 
black flies wading round in our milk." 

" All right : I'll keep him covered up. Go down 
stream this morning?" 

" Yes ; but wash the dishes first, and the madam 
will wipe them, while I smoke my pipi- and joint 
my rod." 

" Bring plenty wood-duck-wing fly, — yellow 
body?" 

" Child of the setting sun ! degenerate aborigine ! 
attend to your culinary duties, and waste not our 
precious time with idle curiosity." 



152 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

I turn to my work. Does the browned son of 
the forest do likewise? 

Xo : he has discovered my fly-book by my side ; 
a satisfied grunt attracts my attention ; I look behind 
me, and see the work of Sarah McBride's delicate 
fingers passing under the examination of his critical 
eye. 

"Those good flies, Mr. Stevens, — McBride? " 

"Yes, Sarah's." 

" Sarah she make good fly ; that fly made like 
one I sent you ; salmon take that fly, sure." 

" Undoubtedly, Tomah, she made these from 
your sample ; but will you be kind enough to 
take that dish-cloth and proceed to business?" 

" I suppose, Mr. Stevens, a wood-duck-wing, and 
yellow body, will kill more " — 

" I suppose, if you don't get at those dishes, you 
lazy Injun, I'll kill you, and serve you out to the 
fishes. You'd make splendid food for suckers." 

At last, by threats and entreaties, our household 
duties are performed, and Joe shoulders his paddle, 
reaches for the landing-net, and is happy. 

The middle gate of the dam is up, and the water 
is rushing on its down-hill course, feathery white. 

" Do you think you can take us through the gate, 
Joe, or shall we take the birch below?" 

"Run that? That's nothing, — white man run 
that easy, if he knew how." 



RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 153 

" Yes, if he knew how ; run himself and birch 
upon the other shore of the Styx if he didn't." 

"Sticks ! No sticks in the channel." 

" Oh, unclassical, untutored Indian ! let us see 
you ' go it alone/ and, if all is well, come back for 
us." 

The words were scarcely out of my mouth, when 
Joe, standing in his canoe, straight as an arrow, is 
cutting the water of the lake ; a moment more, 
and the birch is in the boiling vortex below the 
dam, having passed over the swiftly-running cur- 
rent, and, in less time than it has taken me to 
write these few lines, Joe has pulled to the shore, 
and is awaiting our commands. 

From the pool below the dam, for a distance of 
half a mile, the stream is one continuous rapid, its 
dark and seething waters boiling and foaming as 
they rush forward on their down-hill course. 

Here and there, in its wild track, the waters leap 
up to embrace a rocky boulder, and scatter their 
flecks of foam high in air. A wild, turbulent, and 
tortuous pathway to the comparatively smoother 
water below. 

A few of the older guides often descend these 
rapids alone, in their birches ; but rarely do they 
take any one with them, as a slight error in judg- 
ment, a change of current, or the breaking of a 



154 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAAFS. 

paddle, would shatter their frail craft, and place the 
occupants in a decidedly unpleasant, if not danger- 
ous position. 

This morning we were lions in nerve : our breakfast 
had tamed our appetites, but not our spirits, and we 
were ready for adventure, — thirsting for it. 

" Darest thou leap into yonder birch, and tempt 
the roaring flood?" Thus, or in words of similar 
import, I addressed madam. And she, with spar- 
kling eye, though looking somewhat askant at the 
miniature Niagara, replied, — 

'•Where thou goest, I will go." 

Beckoning to Joe, I gave him a sign, — by trans- 
forming myself for a moment into an Italian image- 
peddler, — which he, understanding the imagery, 
answered by making a head-dress of his canoe, 
and marching towards us. 

" Joe," said I, as he gently deposited his grace- 
ful burden at our feet, " do you dare to run us 
through in the birch?" 

A thoughtful look overshadowed his face, and 
his hand went to his chin ; he turned toward the 
stream, casting his eyes in the direction of the 
rapids, whose roar he could hear, but whose rush- 
ing current he could not see ; then, turning to us, 
he replied, — 

"Yes; I think it's safe, — but you mustn't be 
afraid of a wetting." 



RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 155 

w Not a bit. But did you ever know a lady to 
go over this rapid ? " 

" No ; but there's no danger if you only sit 
quiet." 

" Very well : there's got to be a first one, and 
we'll try it. Are you agreed, madam?" 

"Yes, if you say so." 

Seating ourselves in the canoe, Joe spreads the 
rubber clothing over us, and we are ready. It is 
an anxious moment ; and I begin to wish that a 
little of our adventurous spirit had been quenched 
with our breakfast, — but we had gone too far to 
retreat. I knew Joe's heart was in his work ; and, 
proud of his skill and our pluck, it would have been 
a feather from his plume and ours had we " paused 
upon the brink." 

And, besides, a few observant fishermen noticing 
our movements caught the inspiration of the mo- 
ment, and, divining our intentions, took positions 
where they could be observers of our exciting 
trip. 

I doubt if any adventurer that left his native 
shore in search of the country whose possessors 
were Tomah's ancestors e'er felt a greater pride 
when his foot first touched its soil than did Joe 
when, all being in readiness, he surveyed his pre- 
cious freight, and "pushed his shallop from the 
shore." 



156 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

No retreat, now : a few sharp strokes of the pad- 
dle, and a graceful turn brings us face to face with 
the boiling, rushing flood, — a pent-up lake, which, 
caught and confined by the hand of man, is seek- 
ing its outlet between two wooden walls not twenty 
feet apart. * 

On we are driven ; and now Joe guides our boat 
of bark into the narrow opening. For an instant 
the water beneath us is like burnished glass, and 
but for an instant, for now we take a flying leap 
into the caldron of yeasty foam. Our frail craft 
shivers for a moment, as if stunned by the shock, 
then rises buoyantly, uplifted by the swelling, rush- 
ing, maddened waters, shoots out of the foam and 
mist, and floats once more, with airy lightness, on 
the pool below. 

" Well done, Joseph ! " went up from the shore ; 
and, as soon as we are able to breathe freely, we 
mingle our plaudits with those about us. 

" That's the easy part, Mr. Stevens : the work has 
got to come. Shall we go ahead? " 

".By all means!" said I; for we were now in 
for it, and nothing could stop us. 

"Then, don't either of you move an inch unless 
the birch goes out from under you ; don't look 
ashore, look straight ahead, and don't speak to me 
till >ve get into smooth water." 



RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 157 

"All right ! that's business, fire away ! " And I 
knew he meant business ; for he had taken off his 
hat and coat, and stood bareheaded and erect, with 
his eyes sparkling with unwonted fire. 

Well, we started ; a few strokes of the paddle 
brought us to the edge of the first fall, and again 
we plunge into the roaring waters ; away we flew, 
Joe steering for the wildest water, knowing it to be 
the safest : now we pass close by a heavy boulder 
just rising to the top of the stream ; and now we 
take a bucket of water over the bow, and feel it 
trickling down our cheeks, but we move not; 
another bucketful. " Look out, old boy ! don't 
swamp us " (this in thought, for not a word was 
spoken) . 

On, on we dash; thump, thump, resistless as 
death, the waves strike the bottom of the birch ; 
now the wild water seems to be rolling towards us, 
and now dashing on ahead with the speed of a 
race-horse ; the air about us is flecked with foam, 
and we seem vying to outrun the flying Waters 
themselves. We pass beneath the bridge, and the 
lookers-on cheer us as we dart into sight again : we 
are in rough water, we are in rougher water, we are 
in white water, and we are in foam. And now we 
round a bend in the stream, and in an instant strike 
out upon the smoother water below. 



I 5S FLY-FISHING IX MA IX E LAKES. 

"Well, Mr. Stevens, we're here." 

I turned about slightly in my seat : Mrs. S- 



who ha^l hardly dared to wink, was now shaking 
the " dew-drops from her mane," and Joe actively 
engaged in mopping his brow with his shirt-sleeve. 

" Yes, we are here, Joe ; and my impression is, 
we haven't been a very long time getting here. 
Don't you think it was a little hubbly in some 
places?" 

" Well, a trifle so ; but your wife has got some- 
thing to talk about when she gets home." 

" Yes, Joe ; but you will have to come to Boston 
and tell the story : I fear our friends would hardly 
believe us when we tell of it." 

" Never mind : we know all about it, and they 
can't take away the grandness of that trip by doubt- 
ing us." 

"That's so." 

" And now, Joe, for a salmon." 

Drawing in to the shore, to give Tomah a little 
rest, I let my line float out upon the stream to 
straighten the leader and be prepared for action. 
I pass my rod to the madam, while I fill my pipe, 
and take a survey of the stream. The outlook is a 
good one : the water is at a proper height, but one 
canoe is in sight, a gentle breeze is blowing, and 
the sky is slightly overcast 



RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 159 

Suddenly the madam starts, quickly passes me 
the rod, with the remark that " something's on the 
line." 

Sure enough ; the whiz of the reel, that ever- 
musical sound, tells the story : he has hooked him- 
self, firmly let us hope, but most likely otherwise. 

I am ready for him, and it is a fair fight now. 
Oh ! there's a leap for you, fully four feet clear from 
the water, another and another ; the reel whizzes, 
and the line lengthens. And now, my boy, walk 
this way, please : no ? well, have your own way, 
then, for a while. 

And he had it till at last tired, quite tired out 
with his rushing and leaping, he submits to his fate, 
allows himself to be reeled to the canoe's side, the 
net is deftly slipped beneath him, and he is safely 
landed. 

Not so ; for when, taking him from the net, I told 
Joe to hold him up for the madam's inspection, 
which he did, when the reviving fish made one 
more successful leap over the side of the birch into 
his native element. 

He was a handsome fish, fully two pounds in 
weight, and Joe felt a bit ashamed at his loss ; but 
we didn't care, for we were assured of plenty of 
sport, and we had it. 

After a few moments' casting I struck a pair, and 



160 FLY-FISHING IN MA INF LAKES, 

at the end of a hard-fought battle had the satisfac- 
ti( n of saving them both, two beautiful fish fresh 
run from the lake. 

And now let me pause here, and tell you why I 
prefer this fishing to that of the salmon-trout ; and 
while I would not detract from the latter sport, and 
can appreciate the shake of the head from those 
who have enjoyed year after year only trout-fishing, 
I am free to say, having had many years' experience 
in both, the land-locked salmon is my preference 
now and forever. 

Catching a little inspiration from the immortal 
bard, and parodying one of his lines, I state it 

thus : — 

The leap, the leap's the thing 
Wherein I call the land-locked salmon, king. 

I once took a fish above the dam in smooth 
water, weighing about two pounds, that made nine 
successive leaps varying from three to six feet clear 
from the water, and all within five minutes' time. 

This was witnessed by my wife, who was in the 
canoe with me, and who counted the leaps, and by 
others who were fishing near us. 

No salmon-trout ever did that, nor ever will. It 
is seldom that the trout goes out of water after 
coming out to take the fly (Mr. Murray to the con- 
trary notwithstanding) : his tendency is toward tne 



RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 161 

bottom, and he rarely goes out of the water till 
netted, while the salmon rushes with such velocity, 
nose upward, that he is in the air before he knows 
It. 

In taking the fly, I award the palm to the trout, 
as he usually throws himself out of water to do so. 
The salmon does not, he scarcely more than shows 
himself; but after being hooked the sport com- 
mences, and it is all activity to the death, rarely any 
sulking. 

As regards beauty, while the palm must be 
awarded to the trout, yet the salmon is a very 
handsome fish. I think his form is better moulded 
than that of the trout, and he has a much finer 
head, which is beautifully spotted. The young fish 
has bright red spots upon the body, which dis- 
appear as he matures ; the only spots then being 
small crosses of black, which form a pleasing con- 
trast with the silvery lustre of the skin. When 
first taken from the water, they are a most beau- 
tiful specimen of the finny tribe. 

And now, having painted this lord of the stream 
from my mind's palette, perhaps you may ask, 
"How does he affect another palate?" 

And I answer you : Decidedly he is equal, if 
not superior, to my taste, to the trout ; such is my 
decision after a fair test, and it is also that of many 



1 62 FLY-FISHING IX MAINE LAKES. 

of my friends who were quite surprised that they 
should arrive at such conclusions. 

Last year while "on the stream," a friend of 
many years, an ardent fisherman, who had for 
nearly twenty seasons made the Rangeley Lakes his 
camping-ground, dropped down upon us quite 
unexpectedly. He had heard a good deal of land- 
locked salmon and their gamesome qualities. He- 
fore he had been three days among us, he was the 
most enthusiastic individual I ever saw ; early and 
late he was " up and at 'em." 

Poor Gabrielle, his guide, had no rest for the sole 
of his foot, or the muscles of his arm ; and it was 
not much wonder that the cry of, "Good by, 
Umbagog," became a byword in camp. 

And so with my good friend, and fellow-fisher- 
man, Walter B. McAtee of Baltimore, whose ac- 
quaintance I made at the stream, and who I know 
will pardon me for putting him in print. 

It was one of those happy accidents, as they are 
called, which led him into the regions of the 
salmon, and away from his accustomed haunts, the 
Adirondacks. 

And now, should you ask him which fishing he 
prefers, he would say, — 

" I tell you it's no use talking : it just lays over 
any fishing I know of, and I don't want any better." 



RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 163 

Next June we hope to renew some of the pleas- 
ant scenes through which we have passed, one or 
two of which I may allude to in these pages. 

It just occurs to me, that I have digressed to an 
alarming extent, and left the madam to entertain 
Joseph, while I have been cramming you, my gen- 
tle reader, with my individual opinion and that of 
a few friends, on a subject whereon even doctors 
disagree, and you yourself may believe, excuse me, 
in your ignorance, t{r)out au contraire. 

So, if you please, we will attend to our fishing. 

" How many have we now, Joseph? " 

" Nine, and all good fish." 

"Did you count the one you dropped over- 
board?" 

"No." 

" Well, that makes ten, and that's enough for our 
forenoon sport. I reckon we will reel up, and go 
home." 

Being obliged to kill the fish that are taken upon 
the stream, we never take more than can be used 
to advantage. 

A true sportsman intends that every fish caught 
shall be eaten by some one. And many of oar 
friends hundreds of miles away have tasted the 
fruits of our enjoyment. 

I once kept two fish, weighing four pounds each, 



1 64 FLY-FISHING IX MAINE LAKES. 

two days upon the ice ; took them to Boston, and, 
when served, they were pronounced equal to the 
true salmon. 

A walk of about half an hour, the same distance 
by water on our downward trip, occupying, say, 
rive minutes, brought us to our tents on the hill, 
and we make preparations for dinner. 

It is very amusing to see Joe get ready : first, he 
goes down the hill for an armful of wood ; when he 
gets that, he finds that he needed a little bark for 
kindling ; back he goes after that ; then he discov- 
ers that a bucket of water is wanting, and down he 
goes after that ; making three trips when one would 
have answered as well. 

Finally, after all the little drawbacks attendant to 
cooking an out-of-door dinner are overcome, we 
are enabled to say, " Thank heaven, the table is 
set ! " and with keen appetites, such as are only 
attainable in the woods, we sit down to partake ; 
and rise only when both fish and flesh, like the 
grasshopper, " becometh a burden." 

Cast not your line when the sun casts no 
shadow. 

A maxim which it were wise for a fisherman to 
follow. May I say, no less to be remembered 
because not in quotation-marks? 

In the " foolishness of (so much) preaching," 



RUNNING THE RAPIDS. 1 65 

there should certainly be a few words of wisdom ; 
therefore do not, my ardent angler, fancy for a mo- 
ment that all your daylight hours should be spent in 
eating and fishing, but accept the preacher's advice : 
when the sun is at its meridian, and for one hour 
before and at least two after, wet not your line. 

After dinner, take your pipe, select some shady 
spot, and as you sit having nothing 

" To fret your soul with crosses or with cares," — 

indulge in a retrospect of your anti-meridian suc- 
cesses. Question your guide as to whether any 
one could have saved the fish you lost, the " noblest 
Roman" of them all (?). Anticipate your after- 
noon sport, select a few flies in which you have 
confidence, knock the ashes from your dudheen, 
then seek your tent, lie down upon your bed of 
boughs, draw your mosquito-net around you, and 
woo the drowsy god. 

Such is my custom, and it is best honored in its 
observance ; so if you please, my friend, imagine 
me lying quietly upon my couch of green, while you 
turn over. 




CHAPTER XIV. 



A STIFF BREEZE 




IAYS in camp are all alike, in this 
respect at least, that all are enjoy- 
able ; and though that gives the 
most zest which recounts at night 
a famous catch, or some desperate 
fight for victory under adverse cir- 
cumstances, yet all are happy ; and as twilight 
gathers, we sit where the eye can rest upon lake 
and mountain, rehearse our triumphs, or perchance 
our failures, and form plans for the morrow. 

One afternoon Joe and I decided to leave our 
birch at Little Falls, about a mile or so down 
stream, and go down on foot the next morning, to 
get the first fishing at that favorite spot. 

Following out our plan, we were on hand in good 
season ; but no canoe was to be found. Its al>- 

166 



A STIFF BREEZE. 167 

sence caused Joe to stroke his chin, and remain for 
a moment lost in thought. 

" What does it mean, Tomah? " 

" Ugh ! look there," pointing to the spot where 
we left the canoe. 

" Well, I see nothing there but a pile of chips." 

" Don't you see ? Somebody make paddle ; and 
see here, moccasin-track : that's Gabrielle (Joe's 
brother) ; only he round here now wear mocca- 
sin." 

"Well, what do you think? " 

" Gabrielle, his birch up 'bove dam ; I think he 
and Mr. Clark, they take walk down stream ; fish 
Big Falls, then walk down here to fish from bank ; 
see our canoe, make paddle, catch our fish." 

And, sure enough, the to-be legislator was right ; 
for just at that moment the birch appeared round 
a bend in the stream, glided up to the shore, and 
the "two thieves," our friend from Umbagog and 
Gabrielle, stepped out upon the bank with half a 
dozen salmon which I had arranged for. 

Candor compels me to say that we hardly en- 
joyed the joke as much as they : our feelings were 

more of 

" That stern joy which warriors feel 
In foemen worthy of their sfee/." 

After some little pleasant sparring between Mr. 



i6S FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

Clark and myself, and one or two good spanks 
upon Gabrielle's back inflicted by Joe with the im- 
provised paddle, the latter shouldered his birch, and 
we carried around the falls to unvisited fishing- 
grounds below We had, however, not much luck, 
and, after whipping the stream nearly down to the 
outlet, getting a little faint we drew in to the shore 
to partake of our lunch. While we were enjoying 
our crackers, cheese, and olives, and discussing 
what should be our next move, Joe reached out 
from the canoe, and took from some debris that 
was floating upon the stream what appeared to me 
to be a large but deserted cocoon. Replying in 
the negative to his question, Did I know what it 
was ? he passed it over to me for inspection, when 
I saw that possibly there might still be an embryo 
life within it. 

" That," said Joe, " is a dragon-fly, what we call a 
' Devil's darning-needle,' " all the while examining 
it critically : " I will put it here on the basket-cover, 
and in twenty minutes by your watch you will see 
him crawl out and fly away." 

I felt a little inclined to say "Shoo fly!" but 
knowing well Joe's experience in woodcraft and 
natural history, gained from an intimate acquaint- 
ance with nature, I refrained from doubting ; and it 
was well I did, for in just eighteen minutes (Joe 



A STIFF BREEZE. 169 

insisted upon my consulting my watch), within two 
of the appointed time, one of those huge insects 
emerged from the shell, and stood before us in all 
the beauty of his variegated colors. 

He looked about him for a moment, gave his nose 
a rub first with one foot, then with another, stroked 
his wings with a couple more as if to satisfy himself 
that he was himself, and, before I was well over my 
amazement, spread his wings, and sailed off into the 
air as if he had been up to that sort of thing for a 
very much longer life than he could claim. 

No babyhood there, except what was passed in his 
darkened cell, no creeping before he could walk, 
no fluttering of the wings, but with the strength of 
full growth to which he seemed at once to have 
arrived he was ready to take his part in the battle 
of life. 

" Joseph, you have proved yourself a true proph- 
et for once, now see if you can find some salmon." 

But Joe's eyes are now scanning the heavens, 
over which a few white clouds were rapidly passing, 
and he looks a little anxious. 

"We're going to have a thunder-shower, and a 
heavy blow, Mr. Stevens ; and I'm afraid Mrs. 

S will have a hard time with those tents on the 

hill." 

" Nonsense, Joe : I don't see any signs of a 
storm." 



170 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

" Well, I do ; and my advice is, go home. 1 tell 
you, I'm anxious about your wife." 

" But we must not go home without a few more 
fish, Tomah." 

" Very well, just as you say ; but you'll wish you 
had taken my advice." 

In half an hour the storm burst upon us, with all 
its fury. The tall trees upon either bank bent 
before the blast ; the red lightning leaped along the 
sky, and peal upon peal of thunder rent the dark- 
ened air. The rain fell in torrents, and our rubber 
clothing afforded us but poor protection. Pushing 
our birch to the shore, we lay under the branches 
of an overhanging tree, which protected us some- 
what from the raging elements ; Joe all the while 
insisting that there would be trouble in camp. I 
confess, I somewhat shared his fears, but would not 
admit it to him. At last, during a lull in the storm, 
Joe says, — 

" Mr. Stevens, we are going home." 

We were then about two miles from camp, and 
most of the way we were obliged to go on foot. 
We started at once, Joe with the birch on his head, 
and I following on behind, pretty well loaded down 
with my fishing-implements. Before we had gone 
half a mile, the rain had ceased, and the sun was 
bursting through the clouds ; still the wind blew 



A STIFF BREEZE. 1 71 

heavily, and Joe said another shower was coming. 
In this, however, he was mistaken. 

After half an hour's tedious walking, I got a view 
of the hill ; but alas ! the white tents that were wont 
to greet our coming were not to be seen, not a 
yard of canvas was visible. 

Joe's head was enveloped in birch-bark, and I 
felt a bit ashamed to tell him the state of affairs ; 
but, feeling the need of haste, I suggested that he 
take a look. 

" Just as I expected : now I leave canoe here, 
and we get there pretty quick." 

We were soon standing amid the wreck : every 
thing was flat, gone by the board. 

Like the blossoming fruit, when summer is green, 
Our tents on the hill-tops at sunrise were seen ; 
Like the leaves of the forest, when autumn had blown, 
That camp in the noontime dismantled was strown. 

And there lay the stove, with its door opened wide, 
But through it there rolled not the breath of its pride. 
And the smoke of its embers fell faint on the hill, 
And the pipe but once puffed, and forever was still. 

And there stood the hostess, not caring a groat, 

With a pie in her hand, and the rain on her coat, 

As she said, with glad gesture, " The storm have I braved, 

The bedding's all dry, and the larder is saved." 



172 FLY-FISH I XG IN MAINE LAKES. 

The parody has very well described the situation. 
Though the appearance of the camp was rather a 
disheartening one, there was scarcely any damage 

done. Mrs. S had shown herself fully equal to 

the emergency ; alone and unaided had brought 
order out of chaos, had sheltered every thing perish- 
able from the rain, and we found her as calm and 
collected as though nought but sunshine had crossed 
her path during our absence. 

The disaster entailed but one loss : our ther- 
mometer was fastened to one of the tent-poles, and 
both went down together ; the latter to rise again 
like a famous insurance emblem, the former to do 
so no more, though Arabia's sun should shine upon 
it. 

Joe, having determined in his mind that the 
tents would go down, was now as fully determined 
that they should as quickly go up. It was not long, 
therefore, before we had the satisfaction of seeing 
our camp restored, par excellence, hitherto un- 
equalled. 

We had brought with us some Chinese lanterns 
and fire-balloons, with which to astonish the natives : 
and we decided to celebrate our rebuilded city by 
a grand ascension in the evening. 

It was highly successful, doubly so in itself and 
fed upon Joseph. It is rarely that the stoical 



A STIFF BREEZE. 173 

nature of an Indian can be aroused sufficiently to 
manifest any outward show of surprise or admira- 
tion. 

Joe had feasted his eyes upon the gayly colored 
lanterns that hung upon ropes encircling our camp, 
had watched my preparations for the aerial flight 
with mute wonder and astonishment ; but when the 
ball of cotton, which he had seen saturated with 
alcohol, was set on fire, and the upheld balloon, 
swelling out to its full capacity, was let loose to 
seek its pathway among the stars, for once Joe for- 
got his stoicism, and became almost frantic with 
delight, dancing about, and cutting the wildest 
capers, fairly rivalling the cjown in a pantomime. 

We found it necessary to send up three more 
before bringing Joe down to his normal state ; and 
by the time they had followed each other, in the 
trackless space, we were quite ready to seek repose, 
and dream, perchance, of those unknown worlds, 
that were showering down upon us their sparkling 
glories. 





CHAPTER XV. 

PARMACHENEE LAKE. 

HE Magalloway River is one of the 

tributaries of the Androscoggin, 

with whjch it unites a few miles 

below its outlet from Umbagog 

Lake. 

Although a considerable river of something like 
one hundred miles in length, and to be found on 
all modern maps of Maine, it is evidently not a 
school river, as I ascertained one day when I asked 
four Boston schoolgirls what they knew about it. 

It rises in Canada, and flows through mountain 
gorges, and beautiful meadows, now rushing with 
mighty swiftness through rocky passes, and as 
silently flowing among the dark shadows of mighty 
forests. 

It is a very crooked river. One of our guides 

' 74 



PARMACHENEE LAKE. J 75 

told us that it was the last one made, and it had to 
be coiled in wherever they could find a chance to 
put it. I should think so. A corkscrew placed 
by the side of it on the map looks straight. 

Thirty-three miles from its mouth as you follow 
its winding stream, and about eighteen as the crow 
flies, due north, is Parmachenee Lake, a charming 
sheet of water, encircled by hills of greater or lesser 
height, some attaining to the dignity of mountains, 
and all beautiful. 

I had often heard of this remote spot, as being 
well worth a visit for the beauty of its scenery as 
well as its attractions to the sportsman ; for there the 
trout, the deer, and the lordly moose abound, or 
rather are to be found if one is fortunate enough to 
find them. 

I had also learned that it was difficult of access 
on account of wearisome " carries " across which 
we wouid be obliged to walk. 

But as this would be to our advantage, so far as 
our sporting prospects were concerned, I deter- 
mined to make it a visit, and in the early summer 
of 1878 made up a small party for a two- weeks' 
trip to that locality. 

While we were satisfied that trout are plenty in 
the lake and surrounding streams, our first experi- 
ence was not a success, owing to the lateness of the 



I 76 FLY- FISH I XG IX MAINE LAKES. 

season, very bad weather, and " high water." Still 
the attractions of the trip are so many and varied, 
that I think, notwithstanding our bad luck, there is 
not one of the party but hopes and fondly expects 
sooner or later to revisit this charming lake. 

After much questioning of the few acquaintances 
that had preceded us, we determined upon the fol- 
lowing route, which proved in every respect a most 
delightful journey. 

Leaving Boston in the Portland boat, we arrive 
at the latter city in ample season for a good break- 
fast, before starting again by rail. 

We take the train on the Grand Trunk Railroad 
for North Stratford, arriving there about four o'clock 
in the afternoon. 

Here we chartered a team, and were driven thir- 
teen miles to Colebrook, N.H., over a beautiful 
road which follows the banks of the Connecticut 
River nearly the whole distance. At Colebrook we 
spent the night at the Parsons House, a well-kept 
hotel whose landlord did every thing to make our 
short stay a pleasant one. 

We were here met by a small party of Vermont 
friends, who were to accompany us on our excur- 
sion, and a very agreeable acquisition we found 
them. At eight in the morning our conveyance 
was driven to the door ; and an inviting sight it was 



PARMACHENEE LAKE, I'll 

to look upon, — the vehicle known as a Mountain 
Ranger, very comfortable and roomy, with four fine- 
looking horses, who appeared as much pleased at 
their starting out as ourselves. 

Our destination was Errol Dam, on the Andros- 
coggin River, twenty-one miles from Colebrook, 
through the famous Dixville Notch. 

The day was not all we could have wished ; but 
our party of seven was a happy one, and the ladies 
were in the best of spirits. 

Our route lay up the Mohawk River, which, flow- 
ing from the north, empties into the Connecticut at 
Colebrook. Many were the pools that we saw as 
we drove along by the river-side, and strongly were 
we tempted to stop and wet our lines, for we knew 
that the trout were there. We had been informed 
that it was a stream well worth the fishing. 

Soon we began to ascend toward the Notch, and 
the forest closed in about us. This, for two miles, 
an unbroken wilderness of leaves when suddenly 
we came out from the dark shadows, and found 
ourselves at the Gate of the Notch. It is one of 
the most sublime pieces of scenery this side the 
Rocky Mountains. Entirely different in its char- 
acteristics from the Notch of the White Mountains, 
it has peculiar grandeurs of its own, which must be 
seen tc be realized, as they cannot be described, — 



178 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

certainly not by so feeble a pen as mine. Vast 
pinnacles of rock, some over five hundred feet in 
height, tower like cathedral spires upon either side 
of us, as we pass through the narrow defile. 

One striking feature is the decaying and crum- 
bling appearance of the huge cliffs, — a sort of worn- 
out look, — the few bushes upon their sides brown 
and scraggy. At one point in the Notch we look 
down from our wagon-seats into a vast ravine, where 
the sunlight scarcely penetrates, and where snow 
lies unmelted throughout the summer. A promi- 
nent feature is Profile Rock, — the profile equalling 
in outline and size that of Franconia Notch. Al- 
together, it is a wonderful piece of scenery ; and I 
have no hesitation in saving that the drive from 
Colebrook to Errol Dam, through this mountain- 
pathway, is one of the finest in America. After 
passing the Notch, our course lies beside the banks 
of the Clear Stream River, eleven miles to Errol 
Dam. 

We reached the Dam at noon, and found Bragg's 
Hotel a very inviting place, — so much so, that. 
deciding to tarry, we spent the afternoon in fishing 
at the Dam, and the night with our agreeable host, 
who showed us every kindness. 

The proper route from this place to Parmachenee 
is by steamer through the Androscoggin and Magal- 



PARMACHENEE LAKE. 179 

loway Rivers, to a point distant about ten miles, — 
Brown's Landing. But in the absence of the 
steamer, which is a very notional craft, — coming 
and going at its own sweet will, — we were obliged 
to again take the " Mountain Ranger," and drive a 
distance of seventeen miles over a mountainous 
road, — partly in Maine, and partly in New Hamp- 
shire, — to the extreme end of civilization, where 
carries and boating commence. 

Changing from our "Mountain Ranger" to a 
buck-board, we encounter our first carry of two 
miles, — and a dismal, rough, and dreary ride it is. 
We pass the night at Fred Flint's camp, near the 
Aziscohos Falls, on the Magalloway. For good 
cooking, a neat table, and a comfortable bed, com- 
mend us to this oasis in the wilderness. Surely 
Fred is blessed with a wife worth the having. 

For our thirty-three miles of boating, we are 
ready at an early hour the following morning ; and 
at six o'clock our three boats push off from the 
landing, each propelled by a willing pair of oars. 

From our start at the falls, the entire distance 
to the lake lies through a virgin wilderness, not a 
clearing, not a sign of a human habitation, save 
a solitary hunter's camp, where we landed and 
lunched in primitive style. The trip, were it not 
for its novelty, would be somewhat tiresome ; but 



1S0 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

the scenery was constantly changing, and we were 
not there to be tired, and the hours passed pleasantly. 
It took just eleven of them to accomplish the dis- 
tance, it being up-hill work all the way. To note 
the difference between up and down hill, in river- 
boating, we were but six hours in making the return 
passage. We reached the landing, five miles from 
the lake, — the river, on account of rapids, being 
impassable the remainder of the distance, — at five 
o'clock, and a comfortable walk of a mile brought 
us to Spof. Flint's camp, on the shore of Sunday 
Pond, where we spent the night. 

In the morning we took our departure through 
the woods, on foot, for the lake, distant four miles. 
We were two hours in crossing this carry, — not 
rapid locomotion, but fast enough to be agreeable. 
Considering the non-macadamized road over which 
we passed, the ladies stood the jaunt remarkably 
well. Our baggage followed us on a horse-sled. 

To say that we lifted up our voices with joy and 
gladness when the waters of the charming lake 
greeted our sight, would certainly be within the 
range of truth, — and close ranu r e at that. 

Very grateful was the change from our weary 
tramp to the delightful sail across the lake, in a 
commodious boat to Camp Caribou, beautifully 
situated upon a small island near the farther shore. 



PARMACHENEE LAKE. 181 

With John Danforth, designer and builder, an 
adept woodsman, hunter, and guide, a bunch of 
muscle, and a brain worth the ownership, we spent 
at his hostelry, Camp Caribou, nearly a week ; an 
enjoyable one, although the elements were against 
us, it being a week of almost continuous rain, and 
though in the latter part of June colder than 
average May weather. 

Our fishing was all done from boats within a 
radius of four or five miles from camp. 

There are large trout in the lake, and one of 
three and a half pounds, a beautiful fish, was taken 
by one of our party ; while during our stay Mr. 
Burroughs of the Boston Museum Company, who 
with his friend Mr. Carlos was encamped on the 
shore of the lake, took one with the fly weighing 
four and three-quarter pounds. 

As I before stated, our luck was poor. We took, 
comparatively, but few fish, and not many of even 
a pound weight. At Little Boy's Falls, where the 
best fishing is usually had, we did nothing, owing to 
" high water." At Little Boy's Pond, near the falls, 
upon which we put our boats, we had fair fishing in 
point of numbers, though the trout were small. 

The camp conveniences, table, boats, and guides 
are excellent, and John Danforth is the head and 
front of it all. Too much cannot be said in his 
praise, as all who know him will attest. 



1 82 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

Our journey home, varying our route by return- 
ing via Fabyan's, the White-mountain Notch, and 
North Conway, with the ascent of Mount Kear 
sarge, was one of great enjoyment, and the entire 
trip one abounding in beauty and romance. 

Our party still believe there is good trout-fishing 
at Parmachenee Lake, and, taken all in all, feel 
that we are justified in recommending it to others. 
The expense of the excursion is more than that to 
Rangeley, Moosehead, or Grand Lake, but, for those 
who seek for more seclusion than these afford, is 
much to be preferred. 

Should any of my readers wish to take the trip, 
I should be pleased personally to give them any 
information in regard to guides, expense, etc., not 
here set down, as this does not include " the whole 
business." 



&& 




fill 




81S1I 



CHAPTER XVI. 



PICKEREL-FISHING IN WINTER. 




LAINLY, it happened in this way: 
Tom had often driven by the pond 
in summer ; and, occasionally stop- 
ping to gather a handful of the 
beautiful lilies that float upon its 
surface, he one day met a hardy 
tiller of the soil, with whom he chatted as he 
tossed the fragrant flowers towards the sparkling 
eyes in the carriage. 

" Pickerel, sir ! you can say pickerel. Why, 
there's no eend to 'em, sir, if you takes 'em a 
cloudy day when the moon is right." 

" Do they ever fish for them in the winter, my 
friend?" 

"Well, not much. You see, the boys round here, 
they likes smelting better ; and the city chaps, as a 
gineral thing they don't much like fishing through 



1S4 FLY-FISHING IX MAINE LAKES, 

the ice ; it's apt to give 'em the rheumatics and 
sich ; but once in a while a party, they does come 
down. (Beg yer pardon, ma'am! Oh! he won't 
bite : he only barks.) And. when they do, they 
usually makes a haul. There was two chaps come 
down last winter when she first froze up, and sot 
twenty lines, and carried off nigh two hundred as 
pretty creeturs as ever you saw ; but they ain't 
many of 'em as likes the fun." 

•• Well, sir, I rather enjoy such sport in the 
winter, and I may get up a party, and come down 
and try them ; and, by the way, if you will keep 
this rather quiet — you live near here, I judge?" 

" Oh, yes ! close yonder, right by the pond." 

" Well, take this, and buy something for the 
babies." 

" I'm 'fraid you're too generous ; but mum's the 
word. I sha'n't know nothing about the fishing 
arter this." 

Now, Thomas is not an unbelieving Thomas, as 
was he of old, nor does he forget any thing in a 
hurry; and that night, though one of the warm- 
est of last summer's many warm ones, he woke 
his wife calling for more blankets, dreaming, en- 
thusiastic soul, that already he stood, with a happy 
party, around the dark, bubbling holes, anxiously 

waiting for the tiny flag to give timely notice of the 
fir^t bite. 



PICKEREL-FISHING IN WINTER. 185 

And so it came about, that a fortnight or so ago 
he poured this weight of sport which had long bur- 
dened his mind into the ears of a few delighted 
listeners, who in early spring, with rod and reel, 
are wont to tempt the wary trout from lake and 
stream, — rugged fellows they, willing to breast the 
icy breezes and the drifted snow for a good day's 
sport and the prospect of a generous spoil. 

First, there was Charley W., who delights to see 
his fellow-men well clothed, and who, when sum- 
mer breezes blow, dons the seaman's garb, and 
from the deck of his swift-going yacht drinks in 
the grandeur of old ocean's waves, as the beautiful 
craft settles down to her work, and parts the water 
like a thing of life. 

And Johnny L . Every one knows Johnny ; 

a perfect Apollo, both in form and voice ; good at 
a story, better at a song; and, if report be true 
(and sure it must when from such a source it 
comes), to his already shining stars he has lately 
astonished the world, and a neighboring city, by 
appearing as a "Burlesque Comet." 

Then a "Mammoth Cod," a half-amphibious 
fellow, who likes the water most every way except 
as a steady beverage, — another Charley, fond of 
fun and fishing, he must needs be stirred up at the 
glowing tale, and consents most willingly to join 
the merry crew. 



1 86 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

In the language of the novelist, " the auspicious 
day at last arrived," which was to furnish sport in 
abundance ; and in the best of spirits, our lunch- 
baskets well filled, our fishing-gear, supplied by 
" Prouty," consisting of — item : one axe, one long- 
handled skimmer, one ditto cold-chisel, twenty-four 
patent lines, with red-llannel-flag attachments, — 
all snugly stowed in the baggage-car ; our little 
party augmented by Professor Gerry, who was to 
have charge of the whole (hole) proceedings, — 
we rattled out of ( the Old Colony Depot, bound for 
Lily Pond, Cohasset. 

One little incident occurred before starting which 
might, to a less-determined company, have proved 
a drawback. Tom, with proper foresight, had the 
day before purchased a bucket of live bait, cunning 
little minnows, who seemed as happy in their nest 
of eel-grass, tucked up nicely together, as though 
swimming in their native element. Now. Mrs. 

J , Tom's better half, discovered this same buck- 

et, and the absence of any water in which the lit- 
tle chaps might swim : and, in the kindness of her 
heart, poured in a supply, which, under some eir 
cu instances, would have proved quite beneficial to 
their general health ; but in this case it only damp- 
ened their spirits, and our live bait became dead 
bait. Poor Tom ! he said he couldn't scold, it 
showed such a good disposition. 



PICKEREL-FISHING IN WINTER. 187 

But we took along our dead " enticements," and 
left word with a friend to have another bucketful, 
with more life, follow us in the next train. 

In due time we arrived at Cohasset, where we 
were met by a friend of Tom's, Mr. Hall of Marsh- 
field, whose large experience in winter fishing, dis- 
played in determining the latitude and longitude of 
the holes, the length of the lines, and such matters, 
added, undoubtedly, to the success of our day's 
fishing. A ride of about two miles brought us to 
the pond : in regard to which ride, too much praise 
cannot be awarded to our friend Hall, whose win- 
ning ways so overcame the stable-keeper, that he 
reduced the price of the job from five dollars to 
two-fifty, and no extra charge for bringing up the 
bucket of bait. 

As we drove upon the snow-covered ice, a thrill 
of pleasure so filled each breast that it welled up in 
one prolonged shout of rejoicing, so loud and long 
that it actually started our horse into a trot, the 
first since leaving the depot. As we disembarked 
from our rude vehicle, known as a pung, a gray- 
haired individual rushed across the ice, and was 
soon engaged in earnest converse with Tom and 
friend Hall, as to our objective point for hole- 
building. This proved to be the old gent of last 
summer, who lived "yonder, close by the pond." 



iSS FLY-FISir/XG JX MAINE LAKES. 

And now, behold the professor with his axe, 
Hall with the skimmer, Tom and Johnny exploring 
the little island for the spot and material for a fire, 
the two Charleys arranging the lines, and selecting 
the most lifelike of the dead minnows for bait, 
while the kind old gent wandered calmly about, 
telling such fish-stories as would cause the most 
stoical to glow with anticipation. 

The holes are cut, the lines are set, the little 
flags all ready to rise at the slightest indication of 
a nibble, and — ah ! there goes a flag, the first 
thing ! Run, Johnny ! go it, Tom ! False alarm, 
was it? Must have been the wind. A long wait; 
patience : they don't bite till the noise is stilled, so 
the old gent tells us. 

A longer wait ; a kicking of shins, and rubbing 
of noses to keep warm ; nary bite. 

Oh, if that live bait would only come ! It don't ; 
and ancient gent takes a quiet nipper of old Med., 
and a dollar from the general fund, and retires to 
his cottage "over yonder." 

Meantime our fire burns brightly, and we gather 
round it, watching anxiously our little flags ; but 
somehow they don't go up. 

A boy, an educated youth, joins our party, who 
will persist, in spite of Tom's logic, that the salt 
water does not flow into the pond. Innocent child, 



PICKEREL-FISHING IN WINTER. 1S9 

unused to guile ! Ah, there comes the live bait ! 
Now we shall have them ! Quick, Johnny, be live- 
ly ! Too much time lost already ! There ! Thun- 
der ! They don't seem to notice the difference. 
Not a flag rises. Well, we are all getting hungry, 
and lunch is proposed, to which no one objects ; 
when, just as the baskets are opened, and all are 
gathered about them, up goes a flag, and five pair 
of legs run quickly to the spot, and our first prize 
is landed on the ice. 

Isn't he a beauty? Hall soon extemporizes a 
pond in which we deposit our darling ; and we re- 
sume our feast, attended by the " knowledgeous " 
boy, whose early education in the matter of eating 
had evidently not been neglected. An ice-cutter, 
engaged on a distant part of the pond, a ragged, 
unkempt genius, also favored us with his company, 
and chopped down a few trees for our fire, in 
regular backwoodsman style. We were not obliged 
to board him however, as he procured his dinner 
from one of the trees he cut down, which consisted 
of a quantity of overgrown black ants (fact) , which 
he seemed to relish hugely. We had heard of such 
a diet among the Digger Indians, but hardly ex- 
pected to see it in Norfolk County. Being desirous 
of knowing where this uncouth specimen was born 
and reared, I interviewed him to that effect. 



190 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

"Well," said he, "I was raised in Scarborough, 
Me." He had been, like the "Boots" at Holly 
Tree Inn, "a'most everywhere," — had fought with 
the boys in blue, and later against the Indians on the 
plains ; had raised wheat in Minnesota, and felled 
trees in Michigan. 

As I was well acquainted in Scarborough, a little 
town near Portland, Me., numbering some thousand 
souls, three-quarters of whom bear the name of 
Libby, to test his truthfulness I asked him if he was 
acquainted with any person of that name in the 
town. His answer was more expressive than ele- 
gant : — 

" Libby ! G — d ! Every man in town's name's 
Libby, but one, and his name's Libby Johnson." 

'While partaking of his hearty meal, our joyous 
youth became communicative, and informed us that 
the kind old gent who had so raised our expecta- 
tions had passed the last few years in State's Pris- 
on. At hearing which, Tom didn't look at the 
flags for seventeen minutes. During the hour and 
a half passed in eating and d — rying our feet, one 
more poor pickerel was insnared, evidently the last 
of his race, for not another came to taste our 
tempting bait ; and soon the lengthening shadows 
warned us that it was time to discontinue our 
sport ( ?) . 



PICKEREL-FISHING IN WINTER. 



I 9 I 



So, with great reluctance ( ?) we prepare to leave 
the fruitful scene of our day's enjoyment. A half- 
dollar more from the general fund for the boy who 
wound up the lines, and with our two pickerel in a 
bucket of water, for Tom's aquarium, we start for 
home. Not much was said as to the grand result. 
There was rather a strong feeling manifested by the 
two Charleys, that we should have done better if we 
had tried Billerica Pond. But then, there were 
only five of us besides the professor and the boy, 
and but twenty-four lines ; so two pickerel weren't 
so bad after all. 

It occurred to me the other day, that I would 
like to know what the cost of "them air" two fish 
might be ; and I give you the result of my fig- 
ures : — 



One axe . 








$2 50 


One long-handled skimmer . 








1 00 


One long-handled cold chisel 








75 


One bucket dead bait . 








1 00 


One bucket live bait 








1 00 


Express on ditto .... 








50 


24 patent lines, with flags @ 25c. 








6 00 


10 car-fares, @ 50c. 








5 °o 


Sleigh from depot to pond . 








2 50 


Perquisite to kind old gent . 








1 00 


Perquisite to good young man 








50 


Lunch for six ... 








4 00 


3 bottles Leather Preservative @ $r-50 




4 50 


Total . . . 








#30 25 



192 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

Which, divided by the aforesaid two pickerel, giv- 
eth the cost of each at S 1 5 . 1 2 V- Very aristocratic 
pickerel. Don't you think so ? 

Of course the above does not include our cigars, 
and a little something to keep the cold out while 
we built the fire ; that's understood. 

Not wishing to have this spot all to ourselves, I 
have given you the name of the pond, and beg to 
annex the following diagram of it and its surround- 
ings, that should my readers wish to try their luck, 
they may know where to go, and how it looks when 
they get there. 

[The book-maker says my little sketch has got to 
be placed at the top of the next page, and he sends 
to me in great haste to fill up this gap. Now, if I 
had had more experience in book-making, I should 
have several " chunks " written up to supply such 
wants ; but as I have not, I will use the space by 
showing my readers the uncertainty of fishing, and 
the aptness of the phrase, " fisherman's luck : " — 

A few days after our excursion, a party of gentle- 
men from Cohasset, who were in the habit of fishing 
the pond in the summer, visited it for the same 
purpose, and, with about the same number of lines 
which we had, "toiled all day," and caught nothing. 
This is a lie, but it fills up the space just the same.] 



PICKEREL-FISHING IN WINTER. 193 













A 




C 




D 




r 




I 
* 


D 




P 















A 






























L 










a 


F 




G 




K 














E 


G 








M 























K 











A A. — Lily Pond, Cohasset, beneath whose liquid depths, etc., etc. 

B. — The cot where lived the gray haired sire (liar). 

C. — The road to the pond, o'er which young John, with flying feet, 
pursued the sleigh. 

D D D D. — Holes (24 in number) , by our artist, " Gerry." 

E. — The log that furnished the ice-cutter's repast. 

F. — This is the fire that Tom built. 

G G G. — This is the inland surrounding the fire that Tom built. 
H. — Rock behind which Charley hid the Leather Preservative. 
* I. — Crack in the ice caused by Johnny's sitting down suddenly. 
K. — Pond constiucted by Hall for keeping our fish. 
L. M. — Our fish. 



I have endeavored to make this so clear, that the 
most educated scholar can understand it ; but I 
hope this picture of a winter day's fishing is not 
drawn in such bright colors that the pond will be 
overrun with fishermen, and our future sport 
spoiled. 



A RETROSPECT. 

^HERE the Androscoggin rises, 
'Mid the waving pines of Maine, 
Rushes o'er its pebbly bottom. 

Swelled by spring and autumn rain, 
four charming lakes of wide expanse, 
Lie sheltered by the leaf-clad hills; 
Whose sparkling waters gather strength 
From coolest spring and clearest rills. 




Beneath their waves, the wary trout 

Cleave the clear water as they play, 
Or tempted by the bright-winged fly, 

Dart to the surface for their prey. 
The screaming loon, betokening storm, 

Swift cuts the air in stately Might, 
Or proudly sailing with the breeze, 

Dives to escape the fowler's sight. 



On the green banks, the lofty trees 
Fling out their branches to the sky, 
194 



A RETROSPECT. 195 



Now echoing to the cuckoo's cry. 
The air is filled with sweet perfumes 

Of fragrant mosses, and of vines, 
Mingled with odors grand and full, 

From hemlock, balsam, and the pines. 

Charming retreat from haunts of men, 

And city's busy, bustling strife, 
I long to tread thy shores again, 

There to renew my " lease of life." 
The bracing ride on stage-coach top, 

The murmuring stream, the village bell, 
The shadow on that range of hills 

Whereon my eye delights to dwell ; 
The throwing off of every care, 

The easy lounge, and grateful rest, 
Stanch buckboard, way-side spring, — 

Each in their turn give zest. 

I long to joint my tapering rod, 

And cast the bright and tempting fly ; 
To see them float upon the stream, 

Or hover 'twixt the lake and sky; 
To watch the rise, to swiftly strike, 

To feel the breath come hard and thick, 
To press my fingers on the reel, 

And hear the music of its click. 



196 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

u Come, see ! the west is tinged with red, 

The cove is gently rippled o'er; 
There's waiting sport for us to-night, 

We'll net, my boy, at least a score." 

"Just one more cast, I yet can see 

That miller's white and dainty wing; 
Hold ! there he comes, strike quick and hard; 

Oh ! don't he make that leader sing ! 
He's doubling on you, look out, sir! 

He knows the game, just see him cut! 
I'll risk my rod to save that trout: 

Stand by now Frank, he's got the butt." 

It bends — almost a circle now, 

There's music — not another inch; 
Good-by, old rod, you're stanch and true, 

But yet — ha, ha! Sir Trout, ycu flinch. 
44 He's winded, sir" — "The net, please, Frank." 

(Head first, my beauty, if you please.) 
He'll turn the scale at four, sir, sure ; 

Well, that's not bad for joints like these. 
Up anchor, boys ! the shadows fall, 

The mist is slowly settling down ; 
Said one, as trudging to our camp : 

"God made the country, man the town." 




SUPPLEMENTARY. 




ET it be first stated, that, in writing 
the foregoing pages, I avoided techni- 
calities as much as possible, conced- 
ing that my readers would be one of 
two classes, — those who understand 
and enjoy fly-fishing, and those who 
do not, and might not care to learn, but would 
read my sketches for the amusement of an idle 
hour. The question has, however, several times 
been asked me by those, it seems, who would learn 
the "gentle art:" "Why didn't you tell us what 
kind of flies to use, and how to use them? " 

In response to these queries, it will give me 
pleasure to add a short chapter to this new edition, 
which may be of some benefit to novices in their 
selection of rods, flies, snells, &c. ; but I sadly 
fear I shall fail tc impart much information that 
will be of great service in the art of fly-fishing, for 

197 



198 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

an art it certainly is, my gentle reader. I have yet 
to see the scholar who could acquire proficiency in 
painting or sculpture from books alone, or the offi- 
cer who could manoeuvre his brigade or regiment, 
even though he could repeat Upton's Manual from 
cover to cover. Practice you must have, with your- 
self at one end of the rod and a trout at the other. 
But I can give you some idea of what imple- 
ments to select for your outfit. First, the rod. A 
split bamboo eleven and a half feet in length, of 
three joints, nickel or German-silver mountings, 
and weighing ten ounces, is my favorite ; though 
I use lighter rods when the trout are not supposed 
to run much over a pound in weight. Such a 
rod, and to all appearance they have stood the 
test for three years, can be had of Messrs. Brad- 
ford and Anthony of Boston, for fifteen dollars, 
with extra tip and tip-case. They are made by 
C. R. Wheeler of Farmington, Me., and they are 
a work of art. H. L. Leonard of Bangor, Me., 
makes also a beautiful bamboo rod, but I think at a 
higher cost. You should always carry a second 
rod, and a greenheart of nine or ten ounces is a 
reliable one. It is a good plan to change your 
rods in fishing, resting them as it were. Do not 
stand them on end when not in use, but lay them 
upon wooden pins prepared for the purpose: they 



SUPPLEMENTA RY. 199 

should be kept well varnished ; use copal varnish. 
Don't, pray don't, call your rod a " pole." For a 
line I prefer a tapering braided silk : forty yards is 
sufficient. The reel should be German-silver, nickel, 
or rubber ; either is good if well made : don't pur- 
chase a cheap one, and avoid .what is called a 
"multipler," they are a nuisance. Your leader, or 
casting-line, should be six feet in length, made of 
good strong snell, and capable of sustaining a dead 
weight of five pounds. 

For trout-fishing three flies are ordinarily used : 
though generally I prefer two ; they cast much bet- 
ter, and work better on the water. When three 
are used, the hand-fly (that next the hand) should 
be thirty inches from the middle fly, and the mid- 
dle thirty-two inches from the tail fly. When only 
two, the second should be thirty-four inches from 
the tail fly. As regards the size of hook, that 
depends upon the size of the trout. Tell the party 
of whom you purchase where you propose to go, 
and he will select the proper size. A landing-net 
is indispensable. 

The flies which are illustrated upon the frontis- 
piece are those commonly used in Maine waters, to 
which may be added the scarlet ibis and brown 
hackle, and are quite sufficient for ordinary sport, 
and all practical purposes. Three dozen is enough, 



200 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 

though your artist will have as many different varie- 
ties as that in His fly-book. It is not a good plan to 
have many to carry over : the snell is apt to weaken 
with age, as I have before said in these pages. 

Now you have your implements, step out on that 
rock, and begin your casts, first looking behind you 
to see that your flies don't go " up a tree." Do not 
attempt to get out too long a line : twenty or thirty 
feet will be all you will be able to handle at the 
start, increasing as you become more expert in the 
art. An experienced fly-fisherman will east seventy 
to eighty feet under favorable circumstances. Now 
draw your flies gently over the surface of the water, 
and at the proper time, as the flies near you, raise 
your rod, throwing your line back of you, giving it 
plenty of time to straighten. I accustomed myself) 
in learning, to count one, two, three, four, moder- 
ately, and found the practice quite a help : remem- 
ber all novices fail in not taking sufficient time for 
the back cast. The act of casting should be made 
from the elbow, and not from the shoulder ; and it 
is well to learn to cast with the rod in either hand. 

When the fish rises to take the hook, give your 
wrist a sharp inward turn, quick, but not too hard ; 
this is called "striking." If you miss, and the 
trout has not been pricked, he is likely to come 
again. Now is the time for coolness : if you fail 



6- UPPLEMEN TA R Y. 201 

to show it, you will probably have a tangled line. 
When you have hooked your fish, which you shall 
do if you have "ye patience and ye haunts of 
ye trout," let your coolness continue. Give him 
time and line ; check him gently ; when he is 
stubborn give him the butt, which is done by push- 
ing the butt end of the rod out toward the fish. 
Five minutes is about the time required to land a 
pound trout, though you may frequently be ten. It 
does not always depend upon the weight of the fish ; 
though, naturally, the larger the fish the longer time 
required to bring him to net. If you are fortunate 
enough to strike a pair, which is often done, the 
lower fish should be first netted. If you should 
have three, let your guide remove the upper one 
with his hands, after tiring him : the trout should be 
netted head first. 

Let your guide advise as to changes of flies, 
which need not be often, for if the trout are in a 
rising mood they will take most any of the before- 
mentioned flies. It is well to have a different cast 
prepared, which you may wind about your hat, to 
be in readiness for use. Always soak your casting- 
lines before using. 

Finally, remember this : that the sport is in the 
pitting of your best endeavors against this wary fish ; 
and, could you take them as rapidly as you would 
naturally desire, the sport would soon grow tame. 




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